


Elastic Heart

by Sincestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, First Kiss, Frottage, Incest Kink, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexting, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Switch Dean, Switch Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8377516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: After losing his mother, Sam Campbell is desperate for a connection to family.  He drives halfway across the country to seek out the brother he never knew he had.  But when he meets Dean Winchester, everything changes.  His world is turned upside down as he falls head over heals for his half brother.  Sam knows he needs to tell Dean the truth.  But can he just be Dean's brother?  Will Dean even want that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a photo or gif set on tumblr a while back with this AU caption. I started writing this around three years ago and now I'm finally getting around to cleaning it up and posting it. I'm hoping to update at least weekly.
> 
> While writing this, I was imagining a mixture of Stars Hollow (which has a population of 9,973) and the town where I grew up (which has a population of around 900). So somewhere in between rests the fictional, no name Kansas town where Dean is the only mechanic and the best entertainment available is an outdated bowling alley.

  
  


The town is small and clean and Sam feels a little like he’s driving through Mayberry as he makes his way down Main Street. It’s nice. Kind of refreshing. He didn’t know towns like this still existed. 

Several small streets turn off Main – with names like Maple, Elm, and Cedar – but for the most part it looks as if Main is where pretty much all the businesses and even a few churches are located. His eyes light on a small auto repair shop and he thinks that’s probably the one he wants. Leaning forward, he reads the slightly rusty sign hanging above the door: Winchester and Son. That’s it alright.

He almost turns directly in, but then he notices a little diner across the street and turns in there instead. Not only is he hungry, but this way he can ask around first. It’ll seem much less suspicious he thinks, if someone sends him there. He thinks that’s probably how these towns operate. Particularly where outsiders are concerned.

Stepping out of the car for the first time in several hours, Sam stretches his long limbs and soaks in the early summer sunshine for a minute before he shuts the car door and ventures inside. The smell of grease hits him when he walks through the door, but just under the sickly thick scent of bacon and sausage drippings is the aroma of coffee and that makes up for it.

Sam picks a table with a view of the garage and a patch of morning sun falling across his shoulders and lets his legs reach all the way across to the other booth. These little things aren’t really made for someone with his stature and he has to bend his knees a bit.

The waitress – a graying woman with kind eyes but a no nonsense tilt to her mouth – puts a menu down in front of him and then leans her hip on the other seat. She’s wearing a light blue knee length dress and a white ruffled apron. She looks every bit the type of waitress he’d expect to have worked here fifty years ago. And, judging by the crow’s feet and laugh lines, she likely could have worked here then.

When she smiles at him, showing almost perfectly white teeth, Sam feels like he’d imagine kids feel in the presence of their grandparents. Warm. Welcome. And maybe there’s even a little bit of love in there. It should feel creepy probably. But it doesn’t. Sam can easily picture this woman missing her children and grandchildren who’ve gone off to do bigger and better things outside the frozen in time realm of this town. And maybe she sees a little of them in him.

“What can I getcha, darlin’?”

Sam offers her his warmest smile because he’s going to be a pain in her ass, he’s sure of it. This kind of place doesn’t usually have much that isn’t drenched in fat and oil.

“A coffee to start would be great. But I was wondering if you have anything that’s not… Well, do you have a healthy choices menu?” He expects an eye roll. What he gets is an indulgent smile.

“Tell ya what, sweetie. You eat one scrambled egg and a piece of bacon, and I’ll get my hands on a bowl of cheerios, fruit, and some yogurt for you. Growing boy like you… you need both.” She nods her head as if the deal is sealed, and really? He’s not going to argue.

“That sounds like a plan,” Sam leans forward, squinting to read the name above her right breast, “Glenda.”

She smiles at him again, “Just call me Nan. You new in town, darlin’?”

He nods though he figures she already knows the answer, “Yeah. Just passing through, really. My car was making a weird sound a few miles back though and I thought I might get it looked at while I’m here. The mechanic over there any good?”

Her gaze drifts up to the window and a soft look comes over her face. Fondness. Worry. “Oh yeah. Best in town. Dean’ll fix you right up. You just tell him Nan sent you.” She tilts her head back toward Sam, seems to eye him strangely for a minute and then nods, like she’s just summed him up. “And while you’re at it, tell him I said it wouldn’t hurt for him to get out once in a while. That daddy of his can take care of himself for a night or two.”

It would appear that’s the end of the conversation because she pats Sam’s shoulder and then disappears into the kitchen behind the counter. He can hear her issuing a command here and there, but other than that, he’s left alone to wait for his food.

Obviously this is a slow time of day for the diner, because with the exception of a few older men hunched over cups of steaming coffee discussing this year’s crops, there’s no one else in sight. That’s just as well. He’s been driving far too long and Sam is exhausted. So he finds himself staring across the street at the little repair shop.

His brother’s in there somewhere. Or, his half-brother, but still. It’s such an odd thought because until last summer, Sam didn’t know he had a sibling. It’s just been the two of them for as long as he can remember. And now it’s just him.

He doesn’t know whether to be thankful that she told him about his brother and his dad just before the cancer took her or angry that she waited so long. Maybe it’s a combination of both. He can’t really hold his anger too tightly though. She was a great mom. The best, even. And he just keeps reminding himself that even if she seemed faultless, she was human. She had her secrets and she made her mistakes. And it’s his job to love her and honor her memory anyway. And he does. Every damned day he has to live without her.

Sam shakes his head, forcefully pulls himself out of his memories just in time to smile at Nan when she sets his plate down in front of him. Two plates and two bowls, actually. She’s brought the required helping of bacon and eggs along with a saucer of strawberries and bananas, a bowl of plain yogurt, and a bowl of cheerios. It’s not exactly high class dining, but he does have to admit the grease doesn’t smell quite so bad now.

“There ya go. Eat up, sweetie. This is on the house because I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to get that boy out of the shop early today or at least out tonight and I’m gonna owe you for that.”

Sam thinks about protesting but she sounds serious. So he decides he’ll just leave an extra large tip. Besides, he isn’t sure he’ll want to invest that much time and energy into getting his brother out and about. Hell, he might decide to leave after meeting the guy if he’s anything like their dad. Not that he knows their dad, but from what his mom told him – mostly the things she didn’t say - he can’t be a very good man. Definitely not anyone with whom Sam wants to associate. But, Sam thinks, looking up at Nan and the way she’s grinning sweetly across the street, maybe Dean won’t be so bad.

“Thanks, Nan, really.”

He gets another pat on the shoulder as she walks away, and he tucks into his food. Much to his surprise, the bacon and eggs aren’t so bad. And he doesn’t even complain when she drops another plate of the salty food onto his table as she walks by. He eats every bite and leaves a tip big enough to cover the price of the food and a little extra.

And then… Well. There’s nothing for it. It’s time to meet his brother. Sliding into the driver’s seat of his car, he cranks it up and pats himself on the back for waiting so long to get it fixed. If Dean doesn’t recognize his name or face – though Sam doesn’t think he will since they left before Sam was born – he has a legitimate excuse for showing up. And if Dean does recognize him… He’ll worry about that if it happens.

*~*~*

Sam can hear beating, banging, and buzzing the moment he steps out of his car in front of the garage. There’s a pair of legs sticking out from under the front end of what Sam thinks is a Mazda and they jerk as their owner grunts an aggravated, ‘Fuck!’ With his car parked, hopefully, out of the way, Sam leans back on the hood and waits.

There’s a loud clang and then the man rolls himself out from under the car. He’s tall, though still shorter than Sam by at least a couple of inches. His jeans and white work shirt are covered in grease and there’s a small smudge under his left eye. But his face…

His eyes are bright green, sitting atop the sharpest cheekbones Sam’s ever seen. A light smattering of freckles runs across the bridge of his nose. His lips are full and soft, and his jawline is cut perfectly. In short, he’s easily one of the most gorgeous men Sam’s ever seen. And for a moment he finds it hard to breathe.

Somehow, without even being told, he knows this is the man for whom he’s been searching. The knowledge twists his gut ominously. Because wow. He’s kind of smitten.

Dean grins when he notices he has company, his eyes wander up and down the length of Sam’s body and Sam shivers. Dean’s grin grows exponentially.

“Can I help you?” And the tone of his voice says he’d very much like to offer assistance. With _whatever_ Sam might desire. Suddenly the way Nan was eyeing him in the diner makes sense. Dean’s into guys. And, from the way he’s licking his lips, Sam is just his type.

Sam, usually quite articulate, stumbles over his words, “Yeah I… well, you see… my car? And Nan said you’d be able to… um… fix it? You’re Dean, right?”

Sam’s hands ball into fists against the warm metal under him and he forces himself up a little straighter. Dean seems instantly taken with his height, letting his eyes wander again. Sam blushes but makes himself calm down. This isn’t _that_. Not that Sam would, under normal circumstances, mind this being _that_. But it’s his brother ogling him and Sam should be very disgusted by it. Too bad he’s not. But that aside, he needs to handle this with care.

He almost blurts out his secret, tells Dean everything if only to share the responsibility to refrain from flirting. But then Dean tilts his head, smirks sweetly, and nods. All the air in Sam’s lungs is drained out with a wistful sigh. If only. If only this man weren’t related to him. But he is, so Sam has to keep the parking brake firmly engaged while trying to figure out how to break his news.

“Good. Because it’s making this grinding sound. And I’m kind of worried it’s not going to hold up for the rest of my road trip.”

It’s not. Sam knows that for sure. He’s been worried the whole trip that it wouldn’t make it this far. But he had to try. And, at least this way, he’s got a reason to stick around for a few days. It’s not like there was another destination marked on the map anyway. This is it. This is why he’s spent all year saving. Just a chance to meet the man standing in front of him. The beautiful, god-like creature who now happens to be advancing on him.

Sam is struck immobile. Just watching as Dean approaches, eyes locked, intent perfectly clear. They’ve only just met and Dean wants him. And Jesus if Sam doesn’t feel the same way. Shit. He’s so fucking screwed.

Dean stops with just a few inches between them to spare. Sam swallows and Dean’s eyes trace the movement of his throat. For a few long seconds neither of them says a word. It’s intensity like Sam’s never experienced before and he thinks sparks might truly fly if they were to touch.

“You gonna pop the hood for me, man?” But the way it rolls off his tongue, it almost sounds like Dean’s asking something much dirtier. Sam nods. Either way. Yes. The answer is yes. Dean’s lips pull up at the corner and his gaze drops to Sam’s mouth for just a beat before he motions to the hood, on which Sam is still half-sitting.

“Oh yeah. Good. The hood.”

Dean doesn’t step back and Sam can practically feel the heat radiating off his body when he stands and scoots out from between Dean and the car. Yeah. Definitely screwed. 

Sam watches while Dean looks the car over, cranks it when asked, and just waits. It’s bad news. He knows it is. But he doesn’t really care. He has the money to pay Dean to fix it and he can afford a room in town for two weeks or more depending on how upscale it is.

“It’ll take a few days at least,” Dean says, lowering the hood as Sam shuts the engine off and climbs out. And Sam, so help him, gets stupid. But it’s just a way to get to know Dean without any expectations between them. That’s what he tells himself.

“That’s good news actually, because Nan fed me breakfast in return for taking you out. I’d hate to disappoint her.”

Finally, _finally_ , Dean blushes. Looks rather sheepish rubbing at the back of his neck and avoiding Sam’s eyes. It’s adorable is what it is.

“That woman, I swear. Least she knows how to pick ‘em.” Dean gives Sam one more appreciative once over and then shakes his head. “But you shouldn’t feel obligated. She sends someone my way at least once a month. And, well, to be honest that hasn’t always gone over well. I guess she thinks any guy would be willing to… well. She thinks highly of me, let’s just put it that way.”

Feeling bold in the face of Dean’s reluctance, Sam says, “For good reason, I’m sure. But yeah. Let’s just get dinner tonight. You can tell me about the town I’m going to be roaming for the next few days and I’ll… I don’t know. Give you a reason to get out of the house? Nan talked like you’ve got a lot of responsibility there.”

Dean’s eyes darken a bit and he glances over at the diner before responding, “Yeah well. She’s never been too supportive of my old man. But I guess that’s because she’s spent so many years raising me while he was raising bottle after bottle.” Dean stops for a second and looks honestly perplexed at himself. Like he can’t believe he’s being so candid with a stranger. He shakes his head and dons a rueful smile before continuing, “That’s not important though. He’s family and you gotta… you take care of family, right?”

Sam swallows hard, sees the fierce look in Dean’s eyes and for a minute he’s jealous. He thinks, if they’d been allowed to be the brothers they should have been, Dean might have spoken about him like that. He might have gotten unwavering loyalty from Dean. Maybe he could have even been the center of Dean’s world. And maybe Dean would have been happier to take care of him? Sam doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter right now because, for some reason, he doesn’t want Dean to know at all.

 _Because you want him and you’re seriously considering having him…_ Sam’s wayward thoughts supply.

“Yeah. Of course. But one night isn’t going to hurt.” Sam says, shrugging away those dangerous thoughts.

Dean looks at him again, something unreadable flashing over his face for a brief second before he nods, “Sure. My treat. Where are you staying?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Hadn’t really thought about it. Wherever is closest I guess since I’ll be walking.”

“There’s the Town Inn just a few blocks down. It’s not the Ritz but it’s bug free and relatively clean. Won’t cost you an arm and a leg either.”

“Okay. Yeah then. That’s where I’ll be. Around six?”

Dean nods and reaches out a hand, after wiping it a few times on a dirty grease rag with little to no results. But Sam doesn’t mind much and takes Dean’s hand firmly.

“Dean Winchester, auto mechanic extraordinaire by day, babysitter of alcoholic father by night. You?”

“Sam…” Here’s the part when it gets iffy. Sam’s mom gave him her maiden name, the one she went back to after his dad left. But it’s still a possibility Dean will recognize it. He could lie, but it seems wrong to do that if it’s not by omission. “Campbell.”

Sam waits. Dean doesn’t seem to understand the gravity of the moment at all, so maybe he doesn’t even remember Sam’s mom. But the whole time, Dean’s hand grips his, like he doesn’t really want to let go.

“Sam?” Dean weighs the name and then smiles, “I like it. You look like a Sammy.”

Sam almost corrects him. No one calls him Sammy and he usually shuts it down if anyone tries. But falling from Dean’s lips? It sounds right. Feels like that should have been his name all along.

“Yeah,” is all Sam says. Permission granted.

*~*~*

The Town Inn is, just as Dean promised, clean. But that’s about all Sam can say for it aside from the fact that it’s cheap. Very cheap. No more than the room costs him for the week, he could probably stay most of the summer and not completely deplete his savings.

But you get what you pay for. There’s no cable. The pipes creak. The bed has definitely seen better days. The carpet too. And there’s this weird row of metal bars dividing the sitting area from the bed. The floor is blue and the walls are a different shade of the same color. The bedspread is an odd brown color and when Sam stretches out intent on taking a short nap to recoup from his long drive, he gets the strange urge to pull his legs up so they aren’t dangling off the raft. Like he’s at sea with all the blue surrounding him and a shark might surface to take a bite out of him.

He chuckles at his overactive imagination as he begins to drift off. After all, he hasn’t been scared of monsters under the bed since he was little.

*~*~*

_The moon is high, looks full to bursting in the cloudless sky. A rustle to his right has Sam swinging around, sawed off shotgun at the ready. His finger twitches against the trigger, not enough pressure to fire, but just almost._

_The trees obstruct his view into the forest surrounding him and his first thought is just to fire. Kill whatever is after him. Because, despite the fact that he’s holding the weapon, he knows, instinctively, that he is the one being hunted. Knows it the same way a rabbit does just before the fox jumps out to attack. Except Sam can’t dart away. He isn’t fast enough. So fight it is._

_The sound comes again, dry leaves making way for the weight of an intruder and Sam squeezes the trigger just a bit tighter. Still waiting. Waiting for something. Someone, maybe? He isn’t alone, he suddenly thinks. And his predator isn’t the only company he has. A partner perhaps? Something, someone, keeping Sam from blowing whatever is on the other side of that tree line to smithereens._

_“Shoot, Sammy. Now,” Sam hears, that voice vaguely familiar. But he doesn’t question the order. He steadies the gun in his hands and fires. And from his left, the direction of the voice, he hears shots being fired._

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a few days early with this. But I have several appointments next week and I'm not sure if I'll get around to posting Tuesday or not. If so, then you get a bonus chapter! If not, this way I don't fall behind.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/) and sometimes I take prompts. Feel free to leave one if you want.

  
  


“Honey, I’m home,” Dean calls out to the seemingly empty house and gets, as expected, no answer. His dad’s car wasn’t in the garage so he figures the old man is over at Bobby’s. He’ll come home with some excuse about how he was looking for spare parts for the Impala they’ve been tinkering with for the past several years and Dean will pretend to believe him. The smell of whisky will hang heavy in the air between them and Dean will ignore it. Like usual.

Dean sighs and shakes his head, reaching over to hang his keys on the hook by the door. Looking down at himself he decides a shower is probably in order first thing. It’s just after three so he has a few hours before he has to head back into town for his date, but he stinks and he thinks the grease rag hanging from his back pocket is probably cleaner than he is.

And he definitely wants to be presentable for Sam. God, Sam, with his broad shoulders and his flat abs and his tapered waist. Those miles and miles of legs. And that smile. Holy shit. Dean knows trouble when he sees it. And Sam is going to be all kinds. But hopefully the good kind.

He takes his time in the shower, careful to wash everywhere. Thoroughly. He doesn’t really know where this night is going, but he wants to be prepared for any outcome. And the water feels good spraying over tired muscles.

When he steps out, he hears some commotion from downstairs and knows his dad is home. Probably stumbling around. Most likely looking for the bottle of booze he had hidden under the sink. But he’s not going to find it. Dean dumped it last night after he passed out. But that’s okay, because he’ll never mention it. He’s supposed to be drying up.

Dean almost laughs at that as he runs his towel through his hair, except it’s not really funny . Like he would ever believe John’s actually doing what he says. Of course he’s not. He’s just keeping less alcohol in the house and heading over to Bobby’s every afternoon to get shit faced. And Bobby always gives in. Dean can’t blame him too much. His dad has been through a lot and Bobby just wants to help ease the ache. He knows how it feels to justify enabling behavior. He’s done it enough himself. 

By the time Dean leaves the bathroom, dressed in a white t shirt and jeans, and smelling a little better with the help of some cheap cologne he’d happened to find in the medicine cabinet, John is reclining in his chair, the TV playing low just for background noise.

“You going out?” John asks, tripping only slightly over his own tongue. It’s a good effort anyway. If Dean wasn’t so educated in the Intoxication of John Winchester, he might not have even caught it.

“Yeah. Guy from out of town. Needs his car fixed and he’s bored. So I thought I’d show him around.”

His nonchalance doesn’t fool his dad and he knows it. John also knows that he knows it. But this is what they do. They pretend. Dean pretends that he doesn’t know John’s still slinging them back and John pretends he doesn’t know Dean’s gay. Or bi. Whatever. He’s not exactly sure. Doesn’t really care, honestly. It works for them. Sort it. It’s a delicate balance.

“Hm,” John replies and nods, leaning his chair back farther and settling in. For the night, Dean thinks. John will still be snoring away right here when the sun rises.

“So. Okay. See you later then,” Dean says, looking at his watch to note he still has around an hour before he has to meet Sam, but unwilling to sit here drowning in the scent coming off his dad any longer. He finishes tying his boots and stands, checking for his wallet and his phone before patting his dad on the shoulder and heading for the door.

“What’s his name?” John asks suddenly, stopping Dean in his tracks. This isn’t part of the script.

“Huh?”

“His name. In case you don’t come home.”

“Why the sudden concern? He’s not-”

“He’s not a local. So if you disappear, I don’t know whose door to knock down.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but there’s some fondness in it. This feels more like it did when he was a kid. When his dad wasn’t submerging himself yet, and was instead just dipping his toes. A sense of nostalgia rises up in his chest and Dean answers without arguing any more.

“Sam. Campbell, I think.”

Hearing his dad’s sudden intake of air, Dean stops and spins around, meeting strangely sober looking eyes. “What?”

John grimaces slightly and drops his gaze, shaking his head when he says, “Have fun,” and when he glances back up, the flicker of _something_ Dean saw there is gone. He thinks about pressing the issue, but decides against it. Besides, John’s eyes are already closed and his breathing is evening out. And Dean has very little interest in fighting his dad’s whisky coma.

“Yeah,” is all he says as he grabs both sets of keys off the hook. It’s bad enough John drove himself home. If Jody catches him out again on his suspended license, Dean might not be able to sweet talk John’s way out of it. Jody likes him, but, much like everyone else in this town, that feeling doesn’t always extend to his pops.

Standing at the door of the garage, Dean eyes the back bumper of the Impala with a smile. His dad actually replaced the thing today. With the new paint job and the shiny new chrome trimming her sleek black, she’s looking better and better every day. Maybe John isn’t drinking quite as much as Dean originally thought. He’s sober enough at least to get a little work done. And that’s more than has been the case in years.

On a whim Dean decides to leave his truck parked and take his baby. Because, she _is_ his after all. Dad had bought her for Dean on his thirteenth birthday promising they would fix ‘er up together. He’d been mostly dry that winter and come summer he was still straight enough to actually get the car running. Since then, all the work has mostly been done separately and has just been basic maintenance to keep the old girl running.

Until now, anyway. Because it looks like John has not only painted the body and replaced the back bumper, but he’s done some polishing on the wheels and grill as well. She looks better than she has in years. And while the interior might still need some tender love and care, it’s good enough for the moment. Much cleaner than his work truck which smells of oil and gas and various other automotive fluids.

Dean slides in behind the wheel and takes a minute to just breathe her in, the scent of warm leather invading his senses briefly before he cranks her up. She purrs to life, runs like a fucking dream, and Dean pats her cracked dash, mentally promising to gut and restore her interior the next chance he gets. She’s almost done. Finally. And Dean thinks Sam is the perfect person to help him start breaking her in. It feels right, somehow. Like Sam is supposed to be the one riding shotgun.

Dean rolls his eyes at his own absurdity and puts her in reverse, easing his way out of the garage and onto the street. He’s going to have to be careful with Sam. Very careful. If not he might end up attached. And Dean doesn’t do attached.

*~*~*

By the time Dean rolls into town he still has around half an hour to kill, so he stops in to the diner. If Nan was working this morning when Sam stopped by, she might still be working. The woman is a damned machine. Pulls doubles several times a week. And, lo and behold, she’s wiping up a table in the corner when he steps inside.

She turns to greet him, brushing a wayward lock of almost silver hair out of her eyes. Her smile is mischievous but warm and he can’t even fake anger. But still, one of these days she’s going to try to send the wrong guy his way and it’s not going to end well. As much as he wishes things were easier for guys like him, they’re not. And while most people around here accept him (he’s the best damned mechanic in at least a hundred mile radius), that doesn’t mean they all like him.

“Nan,” he starts, admonishing but also friendly and she just rolls her eyes and cuts him off with a hug.

“Don’t start. You haven’t done anything but mope around that shop and that house for weeks now. And he’s a cute one, isn’t he? You’ll have a fine time,” she finishes with a kiss to his cheek and one last squeeze before she finally releases him.

“You can’t keep… one of these days you’re going to bark up the wrong tree and-”

“You just hush. You’re going on like I send every tall drink that walks in here your way.”

“You do, Nan,” Dean replies, tone flat as he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, well, this one’s different. Got a feeling about him. And he got you all cleaned up and smelling good, didn’t he? Where you taking him?” She looks at him knowingly and he can’t help but smile and shake his head. Sometimes he wishes she really was his grandma. She steps over to wipe down the next table and he follows, grin growing as he thinks about Sam.

“Thought I’d bring him here for burgers. And then show him around town, maybe take him bowling. He’s gonna be here for a few days, so if that goes well maybe this weekend we can see a movie and get a real meal.” There’s not much to do around here aside from the bowling alley which serves, along with the diner, as the local hangout, but the next town over is full of almost nice restaurants and a couple of movie theaters.

“You’re bringing him here again? Now I wish I was working a double today. That boy’s awful pretty, ain’t he?”

Dean agrees silently because, yeah, Sam’s fucking gorgeous. But no need to start waxing poetic about the guy and getting Nan’s hopes up. He doesn’t even live around here. Nowhere near. The license plate on the too small for his huge frame civic he’d left at Dean’s shop was from California. So he’s a long damn way from home.

“Speaking of,” Dean says instead, “shouldn’t you be off already?”

“Will be in a few. Jo had to take her lil one to karate tonight. She should be in soon.”

Dean nods and doesn’t say that Nan should really slow it down a little and start resting more. The last time he tried she’d threatened to put him over her knee. And, despite being a grown man, and, despite the fact that she’d never once laid a hand on him even when he probably deserved it, he’d felt threatened.

“Alright. Guess I’ll see you in the morning then,” Dean says, pulling her into another hug (because she deserves it, Sam really is the hottest guy Dean’s gone out with in a long time), and then heads for the door. 

Nan’s, “I expect a full report in the morning,” follows him out the door and he laughs. He’s still a little early, but maybe Sam will forgive him. The Town Inn is close enough he could park at the shop and walk like Sam did earlier, but he wants to show off his baby, and he’s desperate to see how Sam looks riding shotgun.

When he pulls in, he parks in front of the office because he isn’t sure what room Sam is in, but, hopefully, he can sweet talk Ruby into telling him. She’ll probably give him shit, but he can call Nan if he has to. She actually _is_ Ruby’s grandmother.

But he doesn’t much more than step into the cool entryway of the office before she calls a bored, “Room 112,” out over the desk from behind a magazine.

“Nan?” Dean asks, figuring the old lady already called to curtail Ruby’s attitude, but Ruby lowers the magazine, popping gum and looking at him as if he’s the scum of the earth. God, she really hates him. But she hates everyone, so he doesn’t take it personally.

“Your lover boy. He said I should send you whenever you get here.”

“And did you warn him off?”

She shrugs and turns her attention back to the article she’s reading, “Wouldn’t have done any good. He was shooting his heart eyes all over the place.”

Dean grins and throws out a half-assed, “Thanks,” before slipping back out into the heat.

Room 112 is about halfway down the long line of rooms, and baby purrs sweetly through the parking lot, easily sliding into the spot in front of Sam’s room. Dean’s still just a little early, but he shuts the car off and gets out and knocks anyway, figuring Sam’s probably already heard him pull up.

When the door opens, Dean finds it difficult to breathe for several minutes. Sam’s hair is a mess and his clothes are rumpled and there’s a pillow crease on the side of his face. He’s fucking adorable, warm and sleepy and part of Dean – the creeper part – wants to offer to forego the date entirely and just curl up in Sam’s bed with him. Hold him while he sleeps.

“Oh shit,” Sam says, wincing against the late afternoon sun, “Come in, fuck. Sorry. I drove all night last night and I fell asleep.” Sam steps aside and motions for Dean to come in.

“You’re exhausted,” Dean says sympathetically, “We can wait until tomorrow if you want.”

“No, I’m good. I just need to brush my teeth and my hair. We’re just hanging around town, right? So this should be fine?” Sam questions, indicating the deep red t-shirt and cargo shorts he’s still wearing from earlier and Dean nods. Sam looks amazing.

“Yeah, you look great,” Dean agrees, finally stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He takes a seat on the end of the bed when Sam encourages him to sit.

“Five minutes. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” 

Dean nods and tries not to think about Sam asleep on this bed just moments before as Sam disappears into the bathroom. He distracts himself by listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. But mostly it’s just running water and gargling. The toilet flushes a few minutes before the water cuts off and Sam comes out drying his hands. His hair is less messy now and he looks more awake. But now Dean just wants to mess him up again. Maybe even worse than before. He thinks Sam would look amazing half-dressed and sweaty, lips red and swollen, eyes dilated.

Dean clears his throat and stands, adjusting his shirt to cover the semi he’s suddenly sporting. Sam grabs his wallet off the table and shoves it in his back pocket as he checks his watch.

“Ten after, not too shabby.” When he meets Dean’s eye and smiles Dean wants to just melt on the spot. He really is hot as fuck and so goddamn tall to boot. Broad shouldered with a slim waist hinting at defined abs and calves that lead up to powerful thighs. Fuck. He could probably sling Dean around like a ragdoll. Dean licks his lips and Sam follows the movement of his tongue and it’s obvious as hell they’re both having less than appropriate thoughts. Any other guy, any other day and Dean would suggest they forget about the date. After all, the guy’s just passing through. Every minute they waste _not_ in bed together is one more minute closer to the guy leaving. But the thought that they could be missing out on a lot of fun by not just jumping into bed is tempered by the crooked smile gracing Sam’s face. Because maybe they could also have a lot of fun going out to eat and bowling. 

For once Dean’s desire to bed someone is almost equaled by his need to get to know them. Because there’s something about Sam that calls to him. He feels protective to the point of wanting to insist Sam climb back in the bed and rest. But he also feels compelled to take Sam out and have fun and see as much of those dimples as humanly possible. And then there’s the urge to spread Sam out on the bed behind him and learn every inch of his gorgeous body with lips, tongue, and fingers. All of his thoughts are tangled up and confusing. No one has ever made Dean feel like Sam does. And they’ve hardly spent thirty minutes in each other’s presence. It’s scary and thrilling at the same time. The tiniest part of him wants to run for the hills. But mostly he just wants to pull Sam into his arms and never let go. Like Sam’s a piece of him he never knew he lacked. And now he’s wrapping himself in clichés. Great.

Sam clears his throat and Dean realizes they’ve just been standing a few feet apart staring at each other for several long moments. “Alright,” Dean says taking a step back and reaching for the door handle, “so, first I thought we could grab a bite at the diner. And then I can give you the town tour. After that, if I haven’t bored you to death, we could hit the bowling alley and bowl a few games or shoot some pool. It’s not much, but there’s a bar and even a few dart boards.”

Dean wrenches the door open and Sam winces slightly when the orange light from the setting sun falls over his face. But he’s smiling and nodding as he runs a hand through his too long hair (perfect length for Dean to twist his hands in really) and follows Dean out into the fading day.

Sam grins when his eyes fall on his baby’s shiny black paint job and Dean’s heart skips a beat at how entranced Sam looks. He ghosts one tentative, gentle finger up the ridge running along the side of her hood and he whistles appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he comments, and it’s so sincere. It sends a delicious shiver up Dean’s spine, seeing Sam take the Impala in with such excitement and reverence.

“Yeah. She’s my pride and joy. My dad bought her for me when I was a kid and we’ve been working on her off and on since then. The interior still needs a little work, so I hope you don’t mind.”

Sam is still smiling and sliding his fingertips over the car when he shakes his head, “Not at all, man.”

He looks even better riding shotgun than Dean could have imagined and he tries not to smile like an idiot all the way back to the diner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did manage to get this edited amidst all of my obligations this week. Yay!
> 
> So here's the goal for this fic, I plan to update at least weekly. And I think I started on a Tuesday. So Tuesday is what I'm shooting for every week if I haven't yet updated for the week. But you might get updates faster if I have the time. I have quite a bit of this already written so I'm just trying to edit and not get ahead of myself so that if I run into any issues with writer's block or having time to write, it doesn't stall the posting.
> 
> And guys, I promise I am reading your comments. I appreciate every single one. I'm just really fucking awkward and have no idea how to say thanks without just saying the same fucking thing every time. Which can appear ungrateful. But really, truly, thank you. Comments and kudos are the best form of motivation and encouragement and every single one puts a smile on my face. So thanks for reading and thanks for taking the time to leave kudos or a comment. You're lovely.
> 
> Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own.

  
  


_Brother._

_Brother._

_Brother._

Sam just keeps thinking it over and over again. Because if he thought Dean was attractive earlier, covered in grease, dirt, and sweat, he’s even more so now. The guy cleans up gorgeously. And he smells so fucking good. Sam’s been half hard since Dean winked at him across the front seat of his car before he shifted her into reverse and backed them out of the parking lot.

But really, who could blame him? Dean’s wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans that show off his slightly bowed legs and a short sleeved shirt that strains just perfectly over his biceps when he moves. And Sam just wants to lick him. Particularly along his tanned neck, maybe nose into the dip between his collarbones.

_Brother. He’s your fucking brother, pervert._

But no matter how many times he thinks it, Sam can’t stop devouring Dean with his eyes. And Dean preens under his gaze. It wouldn’t take anything for Sam to have the man in his bed. Just an invitation. Or maybe a couple too many drinks. Dean wants it. Sam can read it in every lingering gaze, every slide of Dean’s tongue along his sinfully full bottom lip.

Their waitress, Jo, brings them each a cup of coffee and a glass of water and slides a menu in front of Sam. It gives him something to do with his eyes besides undress his _brother_. She’s sweet. Young but helpful and efficient. And she keeps checking up on a little boy seated at a table near the back, so Sam figures she’s also a single mom and makes a mental note to tip well.

“The usual, Dean?” Jo asks, already scribbling on her note pad before Dean can even answer in the affirmative. And then she smiles at Sam and asks if he needs a minute while also flicking Dean’s ear when he reaches into the pocket of the apron covering her jeans and plucks out two straws. But there’s nothing overly flirtatious about it. It’s almost familial, the way they squabble without even speaking, and Sam is a little envious. Maybe he could have had a relationship like that with Dean if not for their dad taking off. Maybe, if his mom had told him sooner, Sam wouldn’t be sitting here making eyes at his brother across the table while trying to convince himself not to just take Dean back to his room for the night. 

He could too, he thinks. He could just have Dean for the few days it takes to get his car fixed and then disappear. No one would ever have to know.

“Um, just a Caesar Salad?” He half asks because he’s not really even reading the menu he’s fumbling in front of him. He can’t, what with all the incestuous fantasies floating around his head.

“That all?” Jo asks and Sam nods. He tries not to blush because he keeps imagining Dean naked and hard.

“Alright. Hey,” she starts as she takes the menu from him, “watch out for him,” she jerks her thumb toward Dean, “do _not_ let him convince you to play him for money. Not pool or darts. You might have a fair chance bowling if you’re decent though.”

Jo smiles sweetly when he thanks her for the heads up and she sticks her tongue out at Dean’s pout before turning on her heel to put in their order.

“She seems nice,” Sam comments and Dean nods eyeing her fondly for another minute and then turning his too green eyes back to Sam.

“Yeah. Nan, the meddling old lady who practically threw you at me, is her grandmother. Ruby, the receptionist at the motel is her cousin. Almost everyone here is related to everyone else somehow, either by blood or marriage.”

Sam blushes because of course. And doesn’t he just fit right in? Except he’s pretty sure he’s the only one wanting to take his sibling to bed. And actually fucking considering it even. The thought that he could do it is still bouncing around his head when Dean asks him about what’s brought him this far East. So Sam shoves all that aside and tries to concentrate on getting to know the man in front of him. Because _brother_.

He’s as honest as he can be. He’s vague about his reason for traveling, just popping off with something about a road trip, his last hoorah before finishing college. He tells Dean that he’s an English major at Stanford with a minor in Medieval Studies and that he’s just two semesters from graduating. He talks about his roommates and even tells Dean about losing his mom last year. Dean is adorably interested in everything Sam has to say and seems to genuinely care about how Sam’s getting along on his own.

“That’s gotta be hard, man. I mean, my old man isn’t much, but I don’t know what I’d do without him. Do you, um… you didn’t mention a dad?” It’s an opening. The perfect opening actually. He could lay it all out there right now. That’s exactly what he _should_ do even.

“Yeah. He took off before I was even born. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about me and my mom wasn’t willing to… she really wanted a baby. So he left and she raised me.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She really was,” Sam says and just thinking about her makes him feel guilty enough that he almost blurts everything out. But Jo sidles up to their table with their food and the moment is lost. Or Sam shoves it away. Something that lets him keep dragging Dean along in blissful ignorance until Sam can decide exactly how he’s going to handle this. Probably badly. Very badly.

Over their meal Dean tells Sam about losing his mom when he was too young to even remember her and then bouncing around from state to state. He talks briefly about his ( _their_ ) dad’s problems with alcohol and how he rarely stays sober long enough to even get in a whole day’s work anymore.

“But that’s okay. I haven’t really needed his help in a long time. The shop pretty much runs itself now and between me, Ash, and Ellen, we keep up with the workload. And Dad does his thing. Mostly drinking, but he also makes junkyard runs for us. Which also just amounts to him having a few drinks with Bobby,” Dean laughs then, but it’s thin and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes until he looks back at Sam and shifts the conversation back to him. “So, where are you headed? Wanted to dip your feet in the water on the other coast? Or…?”

“Nowhere in particular,” Sam answers, “Kansas might end up being the end of my travels if my car has its way.”

Dean shrugs but he looks a little disappointed when he says, “I could probably put a rush on the parts. Might even be able to get them in by Monday.”

That’s way too soon, Sam thinks. Especially since he has nowhere else to be. It’s only Thursday now and that would only give him three or four more days. His room is cheap enough and he already paid for the week. And hell, if worse comes to worse, he could probably get a job somewhere to hold him over until he has to be back for school. He thinks about that, really lets himself process it fully. A whole summer with Dean. He could tell him or not. Spend the summer getting to know his brother or… He shivers just considering the possibilities. Jesus Christ. He is so fucked.

“I had no real destination in mind anyway. And the company here is alright,” Sam smirks at Dean’s eye roll but it feels… right. The sarcasm and the heat both. Like… like maybe the attraction would have been there even if they’d known each other from day one. But Sam stuffs that firmly in a box marked Do Not Touch and Fragile, and slides in into the farthest recesses of his mind. Because what he’s currently considering, a sordid summer love affair with his unsuspecting brother, is bad enough. To imagine that they might have had an incestuous relationship under other circumstances as well is just a bit too much.

“It’s a change of pace from California living for sure,” Dean says, “And, I mean, if you want to stick around for a while, I wouldn’t complain. Not much to do, but you could hang out here or at the shop.”

It’s all casual. Very nonchalant. Devil may care even. But there’s an undercurrent of excitement about Dean when he catches Sam’s eye across the small table. Like all in the world he wants is for Sam to stay for a while. And Sam doesn’t commit out loud, but he’s already figuring up just how many weeks he has until school starts back and how long he could afford to pay for his room.

Dean has a piece of pie for dessert and Sam indulges in a strawberry milkshake. Their calves and feet brush and intertwine under the table and Sam doesn’t pull away. God, whenever he finally does tell Dean, he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. Because all this? It’s decidedly unbrotherly.

*~*~*

When they step out of the diner, the warm summer air taking the chill leftover from Sam’s milkshake, Dean bypasses the car and steps out onto the sidewalk. Sam follows suit, trying to leave a bit of distance between them. He needs to be able to say he tried, right? He tried to fight this magnetism. Or he didn’t realize what was happening between them. Some kind of something that won’t make him seem like the perviest pervert to ever perv when he finally tells Dean.

But Dean closes the distance between them, filling the space beside Sam like he belongs there. Like it’s always been his and he’s just been waiting to claim it. And maybe it has. It sure feels like it to Sam anyway. 

They don’t hold hands, but it’s a close call a couple times when their knuckles brush and Dean doesn’t pull away. Neither does Sam because he’s not kidding about the magnetism thing. It’s almost like he can’t break away from Dean. He knows they left kosher behind ten miles back and they’re careening into the valley of really fucking not okay where they are going to crash and burn spectacularly. But Sam is helpless to stop it. No matter how many warnings flash through his head, he just keeps speeding ahead.

“The grocery store is over there,” Dean is saying, legitimately giving Sam a tour of the small town he calls home, “It’s not as good as Wal-Mart, but they’ve got most everything you’ll need and it’s reasonably priced. There is a Wal-Mart about forty five minutes north though, and if you want to go, I usually go on Saturdays. I wouldn’t mind you tagging along.”

“Does your dad go with you?” Sam asks, hoping it doesn’t sound too suspicious. But he has no interest in meeting the man if he can avoid it. The fact that he left his mom is enough on its own, but that shadow that creeps into Dean’s eyes when he talks about him seals it. If he had to speak to him there’s no telling what would come out of his mouth.

“Nah. He’s either too hungover or too far into a bender depending on what time I go. And he wouldn’t want to anyway. I usually spend most of the day out and he can’t be away from Jim and Jack that long. But sometimes I like to get a bite to eat and see a movie on Saturdays. And then I grab whatever I need from the store before I head back.”

“Dinner and a movie on your own?” And yeah, he’s fishing for information, but Dean doesn’t seem to mind. His lips twitch and he glances at Sam before turning his attention back to the sidewalk.

“Most of the time. Sometimes Jo and Michael, her kid, go with me. Sometimes I take a date. But mostly it’s just me. This Saturday, though, I’m kinda hoping to take someone. Tall. Hot as fuck. Did I mention tall?”

Sam’s breath catches and his face heats and he’s probably grinning stupidly. But that’s the first time Dean has verbally acknowledged his attraction to Sam. It’s heady. And wrong. But Dean doesn’t know that. And Sam isn’t ready to tell him.

“Tall, huh? That something that does it for you?”

Oh god. He should stop. Right fucking now.

“Fuck yeah. I mean, I’m not a short guy myself. So most guys I see are smaller than me. Tall is… intriguing. There are a lot of possibilities…”

Sam bites his lip and looks away. Anything to cool himself down and take a step back. Because he doesn’t need to encourage this. Except he really wants to. He lets his fingers graze along the side of Dean’s hand as he turns his head back and he sees the shiver that runs through Dean’s body. Shit. Fuck. Sonofabitch. He’s going to invite Dean back to his room. Right now.

But as he’s opening his mouth, Dean lifts his arm and points ahead of them, “And there’s the bowling alley slash pool hall. It’s pretty much the only entertainment we have here. Want to have a beer and see what we can get into?”

Sam exhales as quietly as he can, bites back the words trying to rip their way out of his mouth. “Yeah. That sounds good. Saturday too. Saturday sounds great.”

Dean bumps Sam’s shoulder as they cross the street, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. No need to rush those parts. Really. But if I stay very long, you might have to help me find a part time job,” he’s half joking, but Dean’s reply is dead serious.

“I could put you to work at the shop a few hours a day.”

And Sam wants to ask him to elaborate, just to make sure he really meant that. But they’re walking though the bowling alley doors and the noise takes over. The moment gets lost in the smell of popcorn and nachos and several greetings shouted from across the room. Dean waves, but he reaches out to latch onto Sam’s wrist and guides him in the other direction. His hand is hot on Sam’s skin, but Sam leans into the touch and doesn’t even consider pulling away. 

At the bar Dean orders them a pitcher of beer and nods toward the pool tables while they’re waiting for the bartender to fill the plastic container. “You play?”

Sam answers in the affirmative with a grunt because he doesn’t really trust his voice right now. Dean is still holding his wrist and it’s doing things to him. No one’s touch has ever felt so electric, sending little jolts of fire skittering up and down his arm, raising goosebumps all over his body. God, he _wants_.

“Wanna? No bets though. Jo wasn’t wrong. I’m good and I’d hate to ruin this before it even gets started by cleaning your pockets. Though… I don’t know. Maybe if I did, you’d have to come work for me and stay longer.”

Sam doesn’t get to find out how serious he is, because Dean turns his attention back to the bartender, fishing out his wallet and letting go of Sam’s wrist to pay. And Sam feels like he can breathe again. Finally. But breathing is overrated, he thinks. Or it is when the alternative is Dean’s fingers pressing into the sensitive flesh on the inside of his wrist.

They claim the empty table in the corner for their beer, each filling a glass and having a drink before also claiming the pool table in front of them. Dean racks the balls while Sam picks a stick. For several minutes it’s just the clack of the pool balls and the soft grind of the chalk against the background din of other conversations and laughter. Sam’s eyes feel glued to the sleek line of Dean’s body, the tender slope of his back as the bends over the table. The full curve of his ass as he lines up another shot.

He feels Dean’s eyes on him too, feel his gaze like a weight draped over his back. And god but he craves it. Wants Deans eyes and his hands and his mouth all over him. Sam hasn’t been with a lot of guys. Has only had enough of a taste to be vaguely aware of what kind of pleasure lies that way. Stolen, breathless kisses over the dull thrum of alcohol running through his veins and insistently grinding hips bringing white-hot pleasure embarrassingly quickly. But the promises Dean’s eyes shoot him over the horizon of green felt settle at the base of his spine, sending tingles zinging up and down every time Dean licks his lips and lines up another shot.

They talk about everything and nothing. And the whole time Sam’s skin is stretched too tight for his body and the room is too hot and the beer does nothing to lighten the mood. This thing coiling around them, this desire slips and slides between them the whole time. Dark stares and lingering touches – a fingertip along an arm or a hip canted against a hip or Dean’s hand slithering over his lower back and briefly squeezing his hip – and Sam’s heart is beating double time.

If this was any other guy, any other situation, Sam would already have him pressed into the wall in some dark corner. Or they’d be back at Sam’s motel room. But it’s not. And as much as he keeps toying with the idea of not telling Dean at all, that doesn’t sit right with him. Because sure, this thing is dirty, no doubt. Fucking filthy even. But not telling Dean? That’s tantamount to rape and Sam just doesn’t have that in him no matter how much that twisted part of his brain tries to convince him it’s okay.

Sam’s not even sure how many games they’ve played or how many he’s won, though he thinks they’re probably evenly matched. That or Dean has been taking it easy on him. But all too soon it seems, Dean is looking at his watch and then downing the last dregs of his beer.

“I hate to cut this short, god I really do. But I have to be at the shop early in the morning.”

Sam nods, feeling like he’s slowly coming out of a trance. “Yeah. No, that’s fine. I’m still beat from driving all night last night.”

Dean leaves the pitcher and a tip on the table and as they slip out into the inky night, Dean slides an arm around Sam’s waist. And fuck. He should sidestep that or even just shift away. Anything but what he does. He leans into it, turns and angles his head enough that he can breathe Dean in. It’s hot outside and Dean’s body is a warm pressure at his side. It should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. Sam relaxes into the moment. Vows to think about it at length later. But for now he’s just a boy slowly falling and he’s going to enjoy it.

*~*~*

Dean feels like a livewire, feels strung tight and ready to explode with Sam pressed against him. And when Sam drapes an arm over his shoulders he has to fight the urge to press him into the side of the next house they pass. Every shadow they leave behind feels like a missed opportunity. He could be making out with Sam from here all the way back to the car. All the way back to the inn. But he tries to content himself with just touching, even chastely. He has time. And while he would normally want to rush things right to the good bits (and he kind of wants that even now), this feels like good bits too. Dinner and pool and beer and just walking side by side. It all feels good. Dean’s a bit of a hedonist.

He points out several more buildings on the way back. The combination dentist’s and doctor’s office (two doctors; one practice), and the pharmacy, along with a couple banks and even the churches littering Main Street because Sam might be into that sort of thing. And Sam remains mostly quiet. He nods and hums every now and then, but that’s about it. It’s not uncomfortable though. Not by a long shot. And Dean decides to just walk Sam back to his room and pick the car up afterward so that he gets another few minutes of Sam’s body _right there_ next to him.

Because he’s not even going to try to kid himself. With most guys, he’d already be all over them. And, most likely, he’d end up doing a walk of shame (which never really feels shameful to him) to work in the morning. But Sam isn’t most guys and Dean feels compelled to take it slow with him. Wants to drag this out and wring it for every ounce of pleasure it can bring. Sam isn’t a one night stand. He feels like so much more. Which is ridiculous given that they will be separated by half a country once Dean gets his car fixed. But maybe Sam was serious about hanging around for a while. Maybe they can have a few weeks if nothing else. So Dean’s going to go with his gut on this one. Take his time.

“So, Sammy,” Dean starts and feels the tiniest of shudders run through the body under his arm. He smiles and makes a mental note to use the nickname more often. At every given opportunity. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

Dean guides them away from the diner and Sam follows, no question, though unless his sense of direction is horrible, he has to know where they’re headed. He doesn’t complain so Dean figures he doesn’t mind walking a little farther.

“I usually run in the mornings. And then I’ll probably have breakfast at the diner. After that, I don’t really know.”

“Well, Nan won’t kick you out if you want to take up a table there for a while. But you could also hang out at the shop. It’s just me and Ellen tomorrow. Probably a few oil changes. Nothing too big. Bring a book or something because I do have to work. But at least you won’t be alone.”

“Might do that,” Sam says and it sounds like he means it and not just politeness. 

“Good,” Dean says as they approach Sam’s door. And he considers pressing Sam into it, finding out how the Miller Lite tastes on his tongue. Normally that’s exactly how he ends dates that can’t or don’t make it all the way to a bed. But something stops him.

As Sam steps away from Dean’s touch and lowers his own arm, there’s a hesitant invitation in his eyes. Like he wants Dean to kiss him but he’s still reluctant for one reason or another. It’s in the way he takes one step back, but only one. It’s in the way his gaze sweeps nervously over Dean’s mouth but then jerks up to meet his eyes. And Dean wonders if this is all new for Sam. Maybe he’s never actually been out with a guy before. Maybe he’s just trying this on for size. Whatever the case is, Dean isn’t going to push.

“So, I might see you tomorrow then?” Dean asks, taking several steps backward to give Sam some space. And he smiles when that skittish look melts off his face. 

“You’ll definitely see me tomorrow. I don’t have anything else to do and watching you work seems… interesting.” The way he says it, with an edge of desire sends a thrill up Dean’s spine. Even if Sam’s never done this before, gone out with a guy, he wants this as badly as Dean does. If that wasn’t obvious in all his heated stares tonight, it’s obvious in his voice and his eyes right now. Hell, with very little effort Dean could probably find his way to Sam’s bed tonight. 

“Okay then. I’ll, uh, see you in the morning.” But he’s not going to. Not yet anyway.

*~*~*

Sam nods and waves and then slips into his dark motel room. Holy shit. Fuck. He’s in so much trouble. If Dean had looked at him just right, they’d be rolling around on his bed right now. No question about it. He has to get this under control somehow. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early again. But oh well. If you want to complain there's a comment box at the bottom. ;)

  
  


_The car rolls down the highway, eating up that yellow line, her engine purring so sweetly in front of them. Miles stretched out both ways and Sam’s not even the slightest bit antsy like he usually gets on the road. He doesn’t know where they’re going or where they’ve been and he just doesn’t care._

_Dean grips the wheel beside him, contentedly humming along with whatever song is pouring from the Impala’s speakers. The window is down and the wind ruffles his hair. His leather jacket seems out of place under the glowing heat of the sun, but he looks happy. And Sam feels calmer than he has in a long time._

_So they ride and every now and then Dean reaches out to adjust the volume or flip a tape over. And Sam just watches him. Completely taken with his beauty, the way the sun falls over his forehead, the way his freckles stand out in the sun, the perfect cupid’s bow of his mouth and the slight shadow just under his bottom lip._

_Sam opens his mouth to tell Dean just how amazing he is in this moment, but all that comes out is-_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_But that doesn’t make sense. So he tries again._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Dean seems to get it though, because he takes his eyes off the road long enough to answer._

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Shit,” Sam groans, pulled out of one of the best dreams he’s had in a long time and reaches blindly for his phone. It’s somewhere on the bedside table until he accidentally swats it onto the floor. And there’s no hope of hitting snooze and sleeping for a few more minutes – maybe catching the last vestiges of that dream world – because when he tries to scoop the beeping annoyance off the floor, he topples off the bed and joins it.

Groaning in frustration, Sam swipes his hair back out of his face and fumbles to shut the damned thing up. And then he stumbles his way to the bathroom. He needs to piss and he needs to brush his teeth. He feels more human once he’s done both of those things. And by the time he’s dressed and pulling on his running shoes he feels not just human, but himself. By this point in his day, he’s generally abandoned his dreams, forgotten them purposely or let his mind drift so far away that they feel like wisps of smoke. Memories he could get back if he tried but he’s just as content to let fade away.

Except that’s not the case with the dream his alarm pulled him out of this morning. He keeps seeing the almost emerald green of Dean’s eyes against the barren landscape of a desert highway. Whoever decided that people don’t dream in color was wrong. Sam dreams in various shades of orange and yellow and so goddamned much green. Or, at least he did last night.

He stretches quickly and efficiently on the sidewalk outside his room. The realization that he’s one of very few guests at the motel strikes him then and he wonders how motel in a sleepy little town like this even stays afloat. But when he twists to stretch his back muscles, he sees a smaller sign just under the Town Inn sign. _Hourly Rates_ it says, and just under that _Indoor Pool Swim All Day: $10_. Not even small towns like this avoid the occasional bout of infidelity. And everyone likes a swim sometimes. 

A car pulls up to the curb at the office and Ruby waves at him, half friendly, when she gets out and heads toward the door. Sam waves back and then steps off the sidewalk. His feet are pounding the payment in no time, but he runs the opposite direction of the shop. He needs to clear his head and tripping over his own feet trying to catch a glimpse of his brother isn’t the best way to do that.

God, he had so much fun last night. It’s evident that Dean isn’t going to be enough of a jerk to warrant Sam just leaving. And it’s also pretty obvious that if Sam lets things continue on their current path, they’re going to end up in bed together. He can’t let that happen. But he’s also not ready to clear the air. If he waits thought, if he lets them get in even deeper…

He has to tell Dean and he has to do it soon. Today. Or maybe tomorrow after their movie date. If he does it soon enough he can hopefully still pass all this off as just him trying to gauge Dean. He just has to make sure they don’t get any closer than they did last night. Walking with their arms around each other was almost too much. But at least Dean hadn’t moved in for a kiss. Because then Sam would have… well… he’d have told Dean. Of course. Obviously. He’s not pervert enough to let Dean make out with him without knowing. Right?

Without knowing. And that’s a whole other barrel of monkeys, isn’t it? Because Sam keeps thinking that, at this point, he’s the only one who knows about their relation. And the fact that they’re related isn’t really what’s holding him at bay. It’s the fact that Dean doesn’t know. He can’t really consent if he doesn’t do it knowing the full truth. But if Dean knew the truth and he was okay with it, then maybe Sam could be too. At least for a summer fling? But that doesn’t sit right with him because this feels like the start of something more.

By the time Sam turns around to head back to the motel he’s drenched in sweat and no closer to figuring out what he wants and what he needs to do. So he decides to get a shower and then head over to the diner for breakfast before dropping in to see Dean. Maybe seeing him after last night will help shed some light on the best course of action here.

When he rounds the building though, there’s a truck parked in front of his room and a smiling, if slightly disheveled, Dean propped on the side of it. He’s holding two coffees and it takes everything Sam has in him not to slot himself between those gently bowed legs and plant one right on Dean’s mouth. Not only does he look amazing in his ripped jeans and black t shirt, but coffee. And he brought it to Sam just because.

“You look good all sweaty,” Dean greets him, holding out one of the cups, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. And I had to bribe Ruby with a doughnut before she’d tell me she saw you head out earlier. Just don’t tell her that her Nan sent it for her anyway.”

“Thanks,” Sam says, catching his breath and grinning stupidly, “You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, Nan insisted when I stopped for breakfast this morning,” Dean says with a shrug. But he’s blushing and something tells Sam Nan didn’t have to twist his arm.

Dean’s still leaned up against the truck, one hand in his pocket and one wrapped around his cup and Sam is fighting the desire to reach out and touch him. But he’s stinky and oh yeah. _Brother_. Dean takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Sam’s over the rim and then asks, “You’re still coming over to hang out today, right?”

He seems almost nervous, like Sam might suddenly decide that he’s not interested. Or maybe like this isn’t something he does often, moving past a first date into a second or third. And that makes sense given what Nan told Sam about Dean taking care of his dad. Maybe Dean only usually has time for one night stands . 

“Yeah. I need to shower first and grab some breakfast, but I was going to head over for a little bit afterward. You can show me what you do all day. Not that it’ll mean much to me. I can’t tell a carburetor from a brake pad.”

Dean smirks and pushes himself off the side of the truck, “We’ll fix that, Sammy. I promise you’ll know the difference by the end of the day.”

Sam suppresses a shiver at the nickname and nods, holding the coffee up in a half salute, “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“I’m up for the challenge,” Dean says with a wink. He runs his fingers down Sam’s arm as he passes by him to walk around the truck to the driver’s side, “See ya in a few.”

Sam waves as the truck roars to life and backs out. He watches Dean drive off, sipping at the warm coffee until the truck turns the corner out of sight. And then the race is on. He digs his key out of his pocket and gets in the door. His coffee is plopped down on the table and his clothes make a trail to the bathroom. Dean calling him Sammy in that gravelly voice and that touch and the things it promised? Sam is hard as a fucking rock and he isn’t even too bothered by the fact that he’s climbing in the shower with every intention of jerking off thinking about his brother.

It only takes him about thirty seconds to get the water to a decent temperature, and then he steps in under the spray. He thinks it probably says something about him that there’s no hesitancy in this. But he doesn’t really care right now. Not with his cock throbbing and the water running down the valley between his shoulder blades. He takes one deep breath, and then he wraps his hand around his shaft, gasping when he thinks about Dean touching him like this.

Sam would be just like this, forehead resting on one bent arm pressed into the shower wall to support his weight. And Dean would be behind him, his arm stretched around Sam’s waist so that his fingers can fold over the length of Sam’s cock. Sam would shudder at the heat of his brother’s body. God. His _brother_. And the admonishment he’s been using to keep himself in check suddenly morphs into something entirely different. Something so wrong and so fucking filthy. Something just right.

Sam’s hand drags up and down his cock and he can’t help the broken moan that falls from his lips. His hips jut forward and then back and he imagines meeting the hot, hard wall of Dean’s body. He’d be damp and his mouth would be nibbling along Sam’s shoulder. Little bites in between dirty sweet praise. Because Dean’s a talker. He has to be. 

_So hot, baby. Feels so good in my hand._

Shuddering almost uncontrollably now, Sam’s hand speeds up, his thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. He lets his head shift, resting against the cool ceramic tile as his other hand reaches now to rub and roll his balls. Because Dean wouldn’t ignore them. God no. Dean would work his cock and his balls in tandem, taking Sam higher and higher with each stroke, each caress. And his dick would be pressing into the cleft of Sam’s ass. Steel hard, thick, leaking pre come all over the small of Sam’s back. And Dean would rock against him, seeking his own release even as he drives Sam closer and closer to his. And then, when Sam is so close…

_Want you to fuck me, baby boy. Want you to bury this fucking perfect cock in your big brother’s-_

“Shit. Fuck. Oh _god_ …”

Sam comes with a snarl, painting the wall with his release and then watching it slide down the wall until the spray catches it. It swirls down the drain, washing away the physical evidence of Sam’s deviancy. And even as the aftershocks wrack his body, Sam wishes he could send whatever part of him it is that wants his own brother with it. Wishes he could cleanse himself of his desires. Because now he knows. The fact that Dean is his brother is part of the attraction and not just something they would need to overcome.

*~*~*

“Hey, darlin’.” Nan greets Sam as he slips through the door of the diner. And despite the guilty roll of his gut since he climbed out of the shower this morning, he smiles. She’s already setting a plate out for him at the bar, so he slides onto a stool. He’s not surprised to see bacon and eggs, but there’s also yogurt with granola and fruit. She pours him a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice along with another mug of coffee. He’s very thankful for the last because the coffee she sent with Dean this morning was cold by the time he got out of the shower.

“Thanks, Nan,” Sam offers, already shoving a bit of eggs into his mouth. Yeah, okay, he feels bad about the whole jacking off to a fantasy involving his brother and getting off on it so hard because of the incest aspect. But he’s still got to eat and he’s starving after his run and his fist olympics in the shower.

She smiles at him and pats his shoulder before leaving him to eat while she refreshes various coffees around the diner. It’s the same crowd this morning, mostly farmers. The conversation around him is the same too. Crops and livestock. And his eyes are just wandering to the shop next door when Nan comes back around, dropping another bowl of yogurt in front of him.

“Sam, right? Dean says you’re going out again this weekend,” Jo says, as she slides onto the stool next to him and Sam looks from her to Nan before nodding. Nan smiles and pats his hand and then she’s off again, taking orders and wiping down tables. Jo just chews on the inside of her cheek for a minute, considering, as she struggles to tie her apron on without standing.

“Dean’s… um… he’s not usually the dating type. He’s only ever had one steady relationship and that was years ago. So it’s been a while.”

Sam thinks this is going somewhere. There’s a fierce look in her eyes and Sam figures this is her version of the shovel talk. If you hurt him, I hurt you type thing. But then her face softens and she smiles. There’s still steel running down her spine, and he knows the ‘treat him right’ is the current under her next words, but there’s something so fond there as well.

“Take it easy on him. But don’t let him fuck it up for you guys. Because he’s always been his own worst enemy.”

“Jo!” Nan fusses from across the diner and she rolls her eyes but Sam doubts she’ll being swearing any more. At least not today.

“Getcha anything else?” She asks as she pins up her long, blonde hair and Sam shakes his head. But then thinks better of it. He can’t show up next door empty handed. Not after Dean brought him coffee.

“Yeah. I’m on my way over to the shop and he brought coffee for me this morning. So I should-”

“I got just the thing,” Jo says, bouncing off the stool and disappearing into the back. She’s gone long enough for him to finish the last of his coffee and yogurt. And then she’s sliding a box across the bar toward him. 

“It’s apple. That’s his favorite.”

It’s a pie Sam sees when he leans over to inspect the contents through the cellophane cover. And Sam, who isn’t even that big on pie, thinks it looks perfect and smells even better.

“Thanks,” he says, sincerely. He pays for his meal and the apple pie and tips both Nan and Jo. He swallows hard when they watch him leave, hope so apparent in their twin stares. Shit. This is seriously getting out of control. If he’s not careful, there’s going to be a whole town of people chasing him with pitchforks soon enough. 

He needs to tell Dean the truth before this gets more out of hand. Sam thinks about how he took himself _in_ hand this morning and groans to himself. Shit. He really is in so deep. He might never find his way out.

Walking across the parking lot, Sam sees his car lifted into the air. And then he sees a familiar pair of boots on the other side. But there’s another set of feet and Sam’s confused because they don’t really look like they belong to a woman. And Dean said only Ellen was supposed to be here with him today.

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned now. You’ve never cared who I go out with before.” Dean sounds irritated when his voice drifts out through the open garage door of the shop. And Sam stops in his tracks when he hears the gruff reply that follows.

“Yeah well, now I care. You’re not getting any younger, Dean. You need to find a nice girl-”

Dean laughs at that, but there’s no humor in it. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right? Or have you had a few too many this morning?”

“Dean.” That voice says, and it grates down Sam’s spine. Makes him irrationally angry. For Dean. And for his mom. And maybe even a little bit for himself. Though, from the little Dean’s said he really dodged a bullet by not having the man around.

Sam should either make his presence outside the door known, or he should slink away and come back later. Preferably the latter because he does not want to have to face the person he’s sure that voice belongs to. And he’s going to do just that. But then Dean steps out from around the car and the frown twisting his face shifts into a welcoming smile.

“Sammy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now he’s going to have no choice. He’s going to have to face his John Winchester. And it’s not like he didn’t consider this a possibility when he planned this trip. He actually counted on having to meet him. Right up until he met Dean. Right up until he hit the point of jerking off to the thought of Dean touching him. Right up until he started dating his fucking brother. And Dean didn’t recognize the name, but John will. John will know exactly who he is and why he’s come. 

The thought that he could avoid saying his last name crosses his mind about the time John comes around the car. And Sam is shocked by just how _not_ intimidating the man is. Shorter than he is. Gray. Aging badly. And Sam knows that’s the alcohol. He’s almost unrecognizable from the picture Mary gave him when he was a kid. Sam takes in the knowing look on his face and his heart skips a beat. Dean’s already told him who Sam is. John fucking knows. But he obviously hasn’t told Dean. Sam’s heart tries to pound out of his chest then, working double time to make up for the momentary lapse, while he tries to figure out _why_.

“Whatcha got there, Sammy?” Dean wipes his hands and steps closer, leans over to look inside the box, but Sam and John are still staring each other down. And Sam knows, sometime in the last few seconds, his expression has morphed from surprise and fear to disdain. John, appropriately, seems cowed and maybe even ashamed. Good. Because Sam hasn’t actually done anything wrong… yet. John has. John is the bad guy here.

“Apple pie. Jo must have orchestrated this gift offering. But she’s not here. So you get the praise.” When Sam turns back to look at Dean there’s determination written all over his face. That and rebellion. Oh god. Sam has just long enough to think that’s a dangerous combination and then Dean surges up and plants a kiss on Sam’s cheek. Right in front of his dad. _Their_ dad. Shit.

“Jo,” John says suddenly, disregarding Sam completely now, “Jo is perfect.”

Dean grits his teeth and rolls his eyes and gives Sam an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind him, Sammy. He still thinks I’m in goddamn sixth grade,” Dean turns back to John, “That’s how long it’s been since I was with Jo, Dad. This is Sam. He’s a… _friend_. A friend who brings pie. The best kind of friend. Now, don’t you have an appointment with Jack or Jim? Or maybe Jose.”

John snarls, actually fucking snarls, and then throws his hands in the air and turns to walk away, tossing an almost snide, “Nice to meet you, Sam,” over his shoulder as he goes. And it sounds both sincere and irritated with an edge of pissed as hell and Sam’s not sure how to take it. So he just ignores it and focuses on Dean instead.

“You okay? I take it he’s not exactly supportive?”

Dean shrugs and makes a face that says he doesn’t need John’s support, but Sam can tell it bugs him. “Until this morning he’s never made a big deal about it. I haven’t had a girlfriend since Jo. I’ve been kind of casually seeing mostly guys since freshman year. We had a sort of don’t ask don’t tell policy going on that and his drinking until this morning. He was up bright and early and he insisted on riding in with me. Been harping on me ever since. I don’t know what his issue is. And I don’t give a shit,” Dean shrugs again, trying to convince himself more than Sam probably, “you brought me pie.”

Dean’s grin is contagious and Sam’s still reeling from the feel of those plush lips pressed into his cheek. And so, he does something incredibly stupid. Stupider even than kind of dating his secret big brother. He returns the gesture. It’s a quick thing. He leans down the requisite few inches and presses his lips against Dean’s forehead. And really. It’s nothing. As inconsequential as if he had merely breathed over the top of Dean’s head. Yeah. It’s almost brotherly. Almost except for the way heat pools heavy in his gut. Almost except for the way Dean’s hand comes up to caress his side, thumb grazing the waistband of Sam’s jeans _under_ his shirt. Almost.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tuesday! And while I've already posted what should have been the chapter for today, I figured I might as well post this today anyway. Maybe it'll help lighten the mood for my American readers.
> 
> Warning: We're dipping into some discussion on alcoholism and withdrawals now and in the upcoming chapters. I will try to be as accurate with everything as possible. I'm going on personal experience as well as some research here, but if you see anything that is glaringly wrong, please point it out, guys.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Oh. and VOTE GUYS!

  
  


Dean lets his anger at his father roll off him, leaves it right there on the payment in the wake of Sam’s lips on his forehead. It’s completely gone by the time he’s clinging to Sam’s waist, barely tracing hard abs with his thumb under a thin t-shirt. And he’s breathless with the want that washes over him in place of the agitation.

“Alright, that’s enough of a show, boys.”

And Dean growls at the interruption because without it he might have gotten those lips on his mouth rather than just his head. He takes note of the way Sam shivers at the sound. That might be useful later.

“Ellen,” Dean says, spinning around to introduce Sam to one of the most important women in his life, “This is Sam. He’s the owner of that little civic.” Dean points in the direction of the car he’s been looking over this morning. “Sam, this is Ellen. Mom to Jo, surrogate to me. She’s a tough cookie, but we love her in spite of it.”

“ _Because_ of it,” Ellen corrects and she steps forward to take the pie and shake Sam’s hand, “Jo couldn’t stop gushing about you last night when she got in. She seems to think you’re going to be good for our boy here.”

Dean feels his face heat but he doesn’t interfere. He kind of wants to see how Sam handles Ellen and her brutal honesty. Sam smiles and nods, returning her handshake firmly.

“Yeah. He makes it easy.”

Dean breathes easier when Ellen offers Sam a smile as well and agrees, “That he does. I’d have fired him ages ago if not for those pretty green eyes and that crooked grin.”

Dean huffs and shakes his head, “I own the place, woman.”

“Your daddy owns the place. I run it. You change oil.”

They both know that’s not exactly the case. But that’s an argument they’ve been having since the day Dean picked up his first wrench in the shop at sixteen. Back then it had been true. And they’d gone toe to toe several times over it. When he was a hotheaded kid entirely too big for his britches and she was trying to keep their heads above water in a business John had all but abandoned and dealing with his and Jo’s attitudes on top of everything else. Now they do it more out of habit than anything. And it always feels more like affection than a threat.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean curls an arm around Sam’s lower back, ushering him in, “Put the pie in the fridge, will ya? Sammy’s going to hang out today.” She turns to shoot him a warning and he cuts her off before she can, “I’ll find him a stool and put him in a corner somewhere out of the way. Insurance. I know.”

But when she walks off, Dean whispers, “You can help me. Promised you a lesson in auto mechanics today and I never break my promises.” Dean slides his hand down, works it into the back pocket of Sam’s jeans and feels his pulse quicken when Sam doesn’t pull away. God. It’s been so long since he took it slow like this, just enjoyed the journey rather than spending toward the destination. It’s nice.

“You were looking at my car? Anything new?” Sam asks as the pass by the civic still lifted in the air.

“Nope. I was pulling the old part off. Now we’re just waiting for the new one. I hope you were serious about not being in a hurry. I haven’t even placed the order yet. I’m going to wait until Monday.”

Sam smiles but tries to hide it by studying Dean’s toolbox as they walk by it. Dean directs him to a stool beside it. “No. That’s fine. Great, actually. I think Nan and Jo would hunt me down if I left now.”

“Oh, they definitely would,” Dean agrees, already missing the warm length of Sam’s body against his side as Sam sinks down on the stool. He pulls a book out of his pocket, but he drops it on top of the toolbox and keeps his eyes on Dean instead. Like he’s drinking him in. It sends a thrill up Dean’s spine. This day started out kind of shitty but now it’s taking a turn for the better. Much better.

And it continues just like that. Dean has three cars already waiting for oil changes and two more come in before lunch. And he feels Sam’s eyes on him the whole time he works. His gaze is tangible. And hot as fuck. He’s such a rapt audience too. Listens to everything Dean tells him, even repeats some of it back. When they can get away with it, whenever Ellen is buried in her paperwork, he even helps. Loosening oil filters and pouring oil. He’s pretty sure they’re not being as sneaky as they’d like though, because Sam’s hands are dirty and his face has a few smudges. Ellen eyes him every time she walks through, but Sam keeps giving her his innocent puppy eyes and she doesn’t say anything.

Dean has a suspicion she’s not complaining because Dean is wearing a nonstop smile. Maybe that, his happiness, is worth the risk. They’re being careful anyway. Dean knows their insurance won’t cover Sam if something happens. So he’s giving him easy, low risk tasks. Sam even gets to read a few pages of his book in between jobs.

But the best part? The best part is the way he keeps getting to touch Sam. A lingering finger up the length of his forearm. A hand in the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades. Or his palm pressed right into the center of Sam’s abdomen. And fuck. The guy is ripped. Everywhere Dean touches is wrapped in tightly corded muscle. He wants to lick him. Head to toe. Nibble and suck and kiss until Sam is a writhing mess under him.

“One more quart, Sammy,” Dean murmurs against the shell of Sam’s ear as he hands him another quart of oil. And he waits until Sam finishes with the one in his hand before pressing his lips into the skin just under his ear. Sam tries to muffle his groan, but Dean hears it anyway, steps in even closer so his body is snugged tight up against Sam’s side. He knows Sam has to be feeling the semi he’s been sporting pretty much all day.

“Boys! That’s lunch.”

Dean huffs and Sam jumps away, wiping his hands on his jeans while Dean grabs the last quart of oil and pours it in. He lets Sam have his space long enough to stop shaking and get his breathing under control. And then, once he’s screwed the oil cap back on, and Sam seems more relaxed, Dean steps right back into his personal bubble. 

Sam gasps when Dean’s fingers trace his strong jawline, guiding his face down and to the side. He looks nervous but not unwilling. Still though, it’s enough to derail Dean’s plans. He wants to kiss those lips, but he wants Sam to be into it too. So Dean settles for dropping a few quick, soft kisses along the curve of Sam’s jaw. Then he steps back again, reaching for Sam’s hand behind him as he leads the way out of their little, greasy, dark corner.

“C’mon. We can get a burger at the diner and then come back here for pie.” Sam slides his hand into Dean’s with very little hesitation. But still. He does hesitate even if it’s almost unnoticeable. Dean needs to cool it a little. Sam might very well be new to all this and Dean’s pushing really hard. He needs to remember to just ask Sam later. That’s better than guessing and possibly fucking shit up because he’s either moving too fast or too slow. 

Because he can’t decide what he wants. One minute he wants to slow down, mentally document every feeling. He wants to enjoy Sam as much as possible and not miss a second. He wants a slow burn and a gentle build. But then, the next minute, he wants them to explode in a flurry of flying clothes and biting kisses. He feels like they need to take their time but they also have an expiration date. It’s confusing as fuck.

But it’ll probably make more sense after a bacon cheeseburger and a slice of apple pie. Everything makes more sense after good food.

*~*~*

Sam feels like he’s in a daze. His skin is still tingling from the feel of Dean’s lips, the heat of his mouth as he placed those sweet little kisses on his jaw. And then there’s the feel of Dean’s work callused fingers laced through his own as he tugs Sam to the diner. The mantra he’s been repeating since yesterday - _Brother_ \- is no longer working. In fact, Sam’s scared it’s only making things worse.

And after the encounter with John earlier, he has another real fear to consider. What if John spills the beans? His sudden interest in Dean’s love life can’t be coincidence. He has to tell Dean. Sooner rather than later. But god, he doesn’t want to give this up. And, at this point, he’s sure that when Dean finds out, he won’t even want to look at Sam anymore. Much less try to figure out how they go about being brothers with all this between them.

They eat lunch at the diner and then have pie on a couple of stools in Dean’s little corner of the shop. And then there are more oil changes and a few minor repairs. And through it all, Sam is breathless and dizzy. Dean keeps touching him and dropping little kisses on his shoulders and his neck. He knows that he wouldn’t be able to resist Dean right now. If Dean wanted to have him in the little bathroom at the back of the shop, Sam wouldn’t say no. And that’s dangerous as fuck. So he tries to keep a little distance while not pushing Dean completely away.

Thankfully, Dean seems to understand to an extent. He doesn’t _stop_ , but he doesn’t press for more. And when Sam pulls away, Dean lets him have space without making a big deal out of it. But the heat between them doesn’t dissipate. Not even a little. If anything they burn hotter and hotter. By the end of the day, Sam is nervous as all hell. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get out of this without taking Dean back to the motel with him. It isn’t even like he can fake previous plans or an appointment or anything really.

Fortunately for Sam, luck is on his side. Or Dean’s conscience and loyalty is. Because when Dean finally glances up at the clock and declares the work day over, he seems distant and worried. And he’s apologetic when he tells Sam he really needs to get home and smooth things over with his old man.

“You should do that. I’ll just turn in early, or something,” Sam quickly agrees.

Dean frowns and seems to reconsider for a moment before he shakes his head, “Yeah. God, I’m sorry. But he’s family. All I have left really. And even if he’s an ass, he’s my ass, ya know?”

Sam nods because he does kind of understand. His mom was great, but even she had her moments. And he’d forgiven her almost instantly for keeping Dean a secret all these years, even though it hurt him. So yeah. He does get it, even if he thinks John doesn’t deserve Dean and his love or forgiveness.

Dean glances around Sam toward the office and then reaches out to grab Sam’s wrist and pull him out of view. Dean backs Sam into the corner, gently trapping Sam against the wall. Dean studies him briefly, one hand still holding Sam’s wrist and the other pressed into the side of Sam’s face. And fuck if they both aren’t trembling. This is it. Sam’s sure of it. And he should slip out of Dean’s grip, because he could, if he wanted. He should walk away right now. Or tell Dean the truth. Something. Anything other than what he does. What he does is surrender.

“Sammy?” Dean whispers, face so close Sam can only focus on one green eye at a time.

“Yeah?” Fuck. If Dean doesn’t kiss him Sam might just lose his fucking mind.

“Ever kissed another guy? Or is this… I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Sam’s voice is all kinds of shaky and deep when he says, “Dean, if you don’t kiss me right now-”

And that’s all she wrote.

Dean doesn’t even give Sam time to finish. He surges up and brings their lips together, both hands coming up to sink into Sam’s hair. He tilts Sam’s head the way he wants it, dives deep with his tongue and presses the full length of his body against Sam’s.

He kisses hungry and greedy and Sam whimpers into it, tongue flicking out to tangle with Dean’s. And what started frantic and almost violent, slowly shifts. And then, instead of devouring each other, they’re savoring every nibble and every slick slide of their tongues. For several long moments, Sam forgets he can’t have this. And Dean is the first one to pull away, panting and pupils blown wide.

Now that Sam can focus on something other than Dean’s sinful mouth, he feels Dean’s erection pressing into him and his own answering hardness pressing back. That’s one hell of a wake-up call. Shit. He shouldn’t have let this happen. Sam lets his head fall back against the wall with a tiny thud and a groan. Dean misinterprets Sam’s aggravation.

“Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have… not when I can’t follow through,” Dean moans and leans forward again, dragging his lips over Sam’s Adam’s apple like he just can’t resist. And Sam should stop this now, but he just tilts his head farther back and bends his knees enough to feel the press of Dean’s hot mouth on his jaw.

“Maybe I can just let him cool off a little longer and we could…” Dean nips at Sam’s ear, his hands sliding up under Sam’s shirt, fingertips dancing lightly over the quivering muscles, “Shit, Sammy. God, I can’t fucking wait to get you alone.”

“You should,” Sam starts, voice wavering when Dean’s fingers trace the top of his jeans teasingly, “go home tonight, Dean.”

Dean groans but steps back, raking his fingernails softly over Sam’s skin before he pulls completely away. And Sam misses his weight like a limb. Again he considers just not saying anything. He’s let it go too far now. Let Dean kiss him. Encouraged it even. Dean will never forgive him if he finds out. And Sam doesn’t know how to come back from this. He’s already lost.

“Okay, okay. I’m going. Here though,” Dean says, pulling a pen out of his pocket and reaching for Sam’s hand. He scribbles out a number and says, “Text me tonight. We’ll find something to talk about, I’m sure.”

Dean winks and uses his grip on Sam’s hand to pull him away from the wall and toward the front. Sam feels himself blushing but he just grins through it because Dean’s enthusiasm is contagious. He just wishes he could be enjoying this the same way Dean is and not riddled with guilt.

 _There’s a way to fix that,_ his conscious supplies and Sam ignores it.

“We’re headed out, Ellen. You gonna lock up?” Dean calls out.

“Yeah. I got it. You boys have fun,” Ellen’s answer drifts out from the office, “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Sam manages to get out before Dean drags him out through the garage doors. Dean offers to give him a ride back to the motel, but Sam declines. He needs to put some space between them. And he doesn’t really mind walking. Plus he wants to go over to the grocery store and grab a few things to fill the little fridge in his room.

Dean steals another kiss, just a peck on Sam’s cheek, before he climbs into his truck and drives off. And Sam is still standing there with his hand over the spot where Dean’s lips pressed into his skin when the truck rounds a corner and disappears. When he turns, Jo is standing there smiling, apron and purse in hand.

“Wow. That was… odd. But good. He’s not usually so open. PDA isn’t really his thing. Especially with guys. He likes you, Sam. I hope you know how huge that is, how special,” Jo sounds almost wistful, but then she shakes her head and reaches out to squeeze his forearm affectionately, “You seem like you’ll be good for him, though. My mom still in there, I guess?”

“Um, yeah,” Sam answers, avoiding the topic of Dean and just how good for him Sam will be. Because he’s pretty sure all these people who are rooting for them now will not like Sam too much when this is over.

“Good. She’s supposed to give me a ride home, but I got to grab a few things from the store first.”

“That’s where I’m headed too,” Sam says.

“We’ll walk together then. Give us a chance to get acquainted. Dean’s like a brother to me, so we might as well be friends, right?” 

Sam finds himself nodding and then waiting for Jo to stick her head in the office and let Ellen know where she’s going. And then they’re off, her small arm threaded through his. 

They share a buggy at the store, the few things he needs going in the basket at the top and her stuff going in the bigger part. He finds out that Jo and Dean dated for a while when they were kids. She tells him that she was Dean’s first and last steady relationship. Dean goes out sometimes, mostly with guys. But that’s the extent of his romantic history, a middle school girlfriend and several short term physical relationships.

Jo tells him about Michael, how she got pregnant when she was seventeen. She tells him about Dean being there for her even after Michael’s dad skipped out. He finds out that Michael sometimes spends his afternoons at the shop with Dean and how Dean does all the father/son school events.

“Mikey doesn’t call him dad or anything. Nothing like that. He’s just… he’s good to him. And he’s good to me. Don’t get me wrong, he can be a real jerk sometimes. But mostly he’s just great, ya know?”

Sam agrees with a nod and feels even guiltier. Apparently Dean’s an awesome saint and here Sam is manipulating him and lying to him. Fanfuckingtastic. They finish their shopping and Sam helps Jo carry her bags back to the shop and load them in Ellen’s truck before they part ways.

 _Went shopping with Jo._ Sam sends to the number on his hand, more just to save it in his phone and give his own number to Dean than because he feels like Dean will be interested in his shopping trip. And then he stops at the diner to order a salad to go before making his way back to the motel. His phone vibrates in his pocket as he’s crossing Main Street, but his hands are full, so he picks up the pace.

_You’re a brave man Sammy._

Sam smiles as he starts unpacking the couple bags he brought back with him. He fiddles with his phone as he eats his salad, trying to decide whether he’s going to text back or not. Finally he decides not to. Dean probably has a lot going on with his dad and Sam just really needs to have a beer. And maybe call Charlie. Fuck. 

He’s really screwed up here and if anyone can set him straight, it’s her. Though he doesn’t know how to say, ‘I kissed my brother and I liked it. Think I might do it again.’ He’s not really sure that’s something anyone should have to say. Ever. But maybe, if he can get the words out, she’ll be outraged enough to help Sam feel outraged as well.

*~*~*

Dean drives all the way home with his fingers randomly brushing over his lips. And he can’t stop reliving that kiss. He can’t stop thinking about how good Sam’s skin feels under his hands. It takes everything in him not to turn his truck around and knock on Sam’s door. And he’s still not sure he’s not going to once he clears shit up with his dad.

That’s a fucking mess. In all the years Dean’s been seeing guys, and it’s _never_ been a huge secret, John has never said anything. Nothing supportive, of course, but also nothing hateful. And now all the sudden he’s determined for Dean to ‘settle down with a nice girl.’ It doesn’t make sense.

When Dean pulls into their drive, he sees the Impala in the garage with a pair of feet sticking out from under her. That probably means John hasn’t had much to drink. And, unlike this morning, he isn’t likely to be suffering from a hangover. So maybe they can get to the bottom of this.

Upon hearing Dean get out of the truck, John rolls out from under the car long enough to request a torque wrench and Dean obliges. And then he slides back under the car and Dean’s left confused as fuck. Because he doesn’t see a bottle anywhere. Not even a beer. Nothing in his usual ‘hidey holes.’ There’s nothing tucked behind the boxes on the shelf by the door and nothing sitting almost hidden amongst the tools on top of their toolbox. He sees no traces of John’s habit anywhere.

“How was your dad?” Dean ventures, testing the waters. And it feels odd, making small talk like this, with this tension hanging over them. They don’t usually fight at all. And they certainly don’t talk about it afterward. But John’s attitude this morning cut him to the quick and he can’t leave things like they are.

“Fine,” John grunts, and then, “There’s a roast in the crock pot. Might want to add some potatoes.”

Dean feels like one of those cartoon characters. Like the wolf when the pretty woman walks by or something. Because he’s pretty sure his eyes bug out of his head and he needs to pick his jaw up off the concrete floor.

“A roast?” He can’t keep the shock out of his voice and John huffs.

“Yeah. Pork.”

And that’s that, apparently. Still scratching his head, Dean leaves the old man tinkering under his baby’s chassis and goes inside. Because he has to add potatoes. To the pork roast. That his dad cooked this today. In the crock pot that Dean didn’t even know he knew how to operate. Granted, it’s not that difficult, but he can’t even remember the last time his dad cooked anything. Even grilled cheese is a distant childhood memory.

Dean is halfway through a bag of red potatoes that he finds sitting on the counter, washing and chopping, before it hits him. Not only did he not see a single bottle sitting around, but John hadn’t slurred his words. And Dean hadn’t smelled any alcohol. Or not any fresh alcohol anyway. But he learned a few years ago to distinguish between the sharp bite of whiskey straight from the bottle or off John’s breath and the acrid tang of alcohol infused sweat. So John is cooking and not drinking. Right on the tail of openly acknowledging Dean’s _proclivities_. He’s torn between being proud the old man is trying and being suspicious of his motives.

His phone buzzes as he’s drying off his hands though, and his thoughts shift to hazel eyes and soft lips. And he’s grinning as he pulls his phone out, somehow already knowing who it’ll be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know what day it is. Last Tuesday I was hopeful. This Tuesday I'm disappointed. But it is what it is. Hope you enjoy the new chapter.

  
  


“Charlie, I am so screwed,” Sam moans into the phone, already working on his third beer.

“Do I need to beat someone up? Or bail you out? What happened?”

Charlie is the only person who knows where he is. But even she doesn’t have the full story. She thinks he got an urge to meet his dad after all these years. 

“No, nothing like that. But you might have to beat _my_ ass.”

“Tell me what happened? Is he an asshole? Your mom said he wasn’t the nicest guy. But Sam, if he hurt you, I’ll-”

“Charlie. Stop. It’s not him. I… Fuck. I lied, okay?” 

“You lied?” Charlie says, and Sam already hears the hurt in her voice and she doesn’t even know what he lied about yet. He feels like an even bigger jerk. Good. He should.

“I didn’t come to Kansas to meet my dad. I came to meet my brother. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you before. I guess I just didn’t want the added pressure. I mean, what if we don’t get along? I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it for no reason, you know? I don’t know. It made sense a few days ago.”

“And it doesn’t now?” She asks, and she sounds floored. Sam sighs and heaves himself out of the chair. He tosses his empty bottle into the trash can and flops onto the bed, staring up at the slightly stained ceiling.

“Nothing makes sense now. Charlie, I really am screwed.”

“Okay. So just start from the beginning. Why did you wait so long to contact him?” And the, ‘why didn’t you tell me’ goes unspoken but not unheard.

“Mom only told me right before she died. I think she didn’t want… I don’t know. I’m tired of trying to figure out what other people are thinking. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Charlie. I should have.” He means it too. If he’d had the knowledge that Charlie _knew_ from the very beginning, if he’d had her advice on how to handle this from the get go, maybe he wouldn’t be up shit creek without a paddle.

“It’s okay, Sam. You needed to process. Or whatever. I’m just glad you’re talking to me now. I could still hop on a bus and be there for moral support if you want though. Really.”

He kind of wishes he’d let her come along when she offered a few weeks ago. But he’d still been clinging to his secret for some stupid reason. She would be a great buffer right now. It’s too late though. He’s in too deep and he doesn’t want to involve Charlie any more than necessary. Or maybe he just doesn’t want a witness. Whatever.

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate the offer though.”

“Okay, so tell me what’s going on. Is he a dick? Sam, I swear if he’s being an ass to you-”

“He’s not, Charlie. He’s fucking perfect,” Sam says, and winces at the longing he hears in his own voice. But he’d called her to lay it all at her feet. So he might as well be completely honest.

“Oookay. So what’s the problem?” Sam imagines her stretched out on her bed in those ridiculous golden snitch pajamas and wishes he could be curled up next to her for this. She has a way of putting him at ease even at the worst of times.

“He’s too perfect. Charlie… I… haven’t told him yet. And I’ve been here for almost two days.”

“Alright. So he’s perfect and you haven’t told him you’re related. That doesn’t sound so bad. You needed a couple days to adjust. If he’s as awesome as you say, he’ll understand.”

He could still back out of this. He could thank her for her help and promise to call back soon with an update. That’s what he really wants to do. But he _needs_ her to ground him. She’s probably the only one who could do it. Kevin would think he’s a freak. Jess would probably just find the situation hilarious, and kind of hot. Plus he’s closer to Charlie than he is with their other two roommates. And she’ll still love him regardless. Right? Right.

“I went on a _date_ with him, Charlie. Like, a _date_ date. We walked back to my room with our arms around each other. And there was flirting.” He groans and closes his eyes, waiting for her to give him hell. And he hasn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

She doesn’t even hesitate, “That’s no big deal, Sam. You’re just confused and trying to figure this out. There’s not exactly a rulebook for meeting your adult sibling you just discovered you have. You just have to talk to him and you guys can work it out.”

Sam thinks she’s being way too understanding and easy on him, so he goes for broke, “He’s hot, Charlie. Like fucking smoking. You probably wouldn’t even be able to resist him. And… there might have been some kissing today. Maybe even a little bit of grinding?”

“First, whoa. Trust me, I can resist any man. There’s no man on this planet who could charm his way into my pants,” Charlie says. And she seems genuinely offended that Sam questioned her romantic distaste for men.

“Charlie, I just told you I kissed my brother and the only thing you care about is asserting your love for women? Seriously?”

“Okay, yeah. Sorry. Um… tongue? Or maybe it was just a peck and you _thought_ there was grinding involved. Maybe he was just trying to hug you? Is he European? That could explain any excessive affectionate gestures.”

“He’s from Kansas, Charlie.”

“Well, how do I know your mom didn’t hook up with some dark, handsome man with a foreign accent?”

Sam huffs out an incredulous laugh. Because he can’t even believe this is his life. And he feels incredibly fortunate to have someone like Charlie in his life. He doesn’t know what he would do without her.

“Look, Sam, the worst part here is that you haven’t told him. I’m not condoning incest. But it’s not like you guys grew up together, right? You’re a good looking guy-”

“Wait, just a minute ago you were offended that I suggested you might be attracted to a guy.”

“Hey, I’m a lesbian, not blind. You’re attractive. And you said he is too. It’s only natural that you’d feel something. He doesn’t know that you’re his brother so it’s not surprising he’s interested. And you just lost your mom last year, Sam. You’re emotionally vulnerable and just meeting your brother for the first time. Not to mention the sexual exploration you’ve been doing recently.”

Sam grimaces and shakes his head, “You couldn’t phrase that better? Sexual exploration?”

“Fine. The guy humping you’ve enjoyed the last few times we’ve gone out. Better? Whatever. You need to tell him. That’s the bottom line. Tell him and then you guys can sit down and talk about it.”

Sam laughs again, but there’s very little humor in it, “You say that like it’s _not_ going to come to blows when I tell him. He’s going to be fucking pissed, Charlie. And he might never even want to see me again.”

“Well, what’s the alternative, Sam? Because you can’t just keep lying to him. That’s not fair to him and it’s not _you_. You are honest to a fault.”

When Sam doesn’t answer right away, Charlie gasps and then goes very, very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Sam is just about to ask if she’s still there when she says, “Are you actually thinking about _not_ telling him at all, Sam? Are you considering… I don’t know… like, a _relationship_ with him?”

And this right here is what Sam needs. He needs Charlie to tell him how wrong this is. How not only can he not lie to his brother, but he certainly can’t fuck him. Or do something really ridiculous like _fall in love_ with him. It’s disgusting and wrong and he shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea.

“Charlie, I…”

But he doesn’t know what to say and she must take that to mean she hit the nail on the hit. Which, she kind of did.

“Listen, Sam, you cannot do that. If he ever finds out, and he will because that’s the kind of luck you have, he will be devastated. And if you don’t tell him then you’re sleeping with him under false pretenses and that’s… very bad.”

“And there’s the incest too, right?” Sam prods, wanting to get it all out there. Needing Charlie to really lay into him, “That’s horrible. That’s the worst part.”

For several seconds Charlie doesn’t say anything and Sam can practically hear her thinking. He can almost see her chewing on her lips and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. He knows her so well. Which is why he almost drops his phone when she says something he never would have expected.

“It’s not like the two of you grew up as brothers. And there wouldn’t be any risk of pregnancy or anything. I mean, if he knew and was okay with it and you were okay with it, I don’t see why you shouldn’t. There’s the taboo of it, of course. But if no one knows, and _I’m_ not going to tell anyone, then you don’t even really have to worry about that.”

Sam is stunned. And he knows his head is a little fuzzy from three beers and nothing but a salad for dinner, but surely he isn’t drunk enough to be imagining this. Is she really suggesting he could… that _they_ could…

“Your dad! Sam, does he know? Surely he has to know? Unless you’ve avoided him?”

“Shit,” Sam says because in all the anxiety over talking to Charlie about this, he’d almost forgotten, “Yeah. I mean, I only saw him for a minute and didn’t even talk to him. But he knows. I’m almost sure of it. But he hasn’t said anything. So, I don’t know what to do about him.”

“Wow, Sam. You’ve really stepped in it, haven’t you? Well, you’re just going to have to suck it up and talk to Dean. Your dad too, probably. Are you sure you don’t want me to come out there? I can run interference or serve as referee. Something.”

“No, it’s fine, really. Talking to you has helped. I guess I’ll need to talk to him maybe Sunday. Or Monday.”

“Why not tomorrow? Or right now?”

“He’s busy tonight. And tomorrow we’re going out.”

“So you can’t tell you brother that he’s your brother until after you’ve gone on another date with him? Sam,” she sounds so disappointed that Sam blushes and closes his eyes.

“Sorry. I’ll try not to maul him though? Does that make it better?”

Charlie huffs and it carries so well over the line that she might as well be lying here next to him, “Be careful, Sam. You’re just digging yourself deeper.”

“I know.”

And they probably would talk longer, but Sam’s phone vibrates against his face and he pulls it away long enough to see he has a new text from Dean.

“I gotta go, Charlie.”

“Fine. Just keep me informed, okay? If I go more than one day without talking to you, I’m looking John Winchester up and jumping on the first greyhound going East. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too, you dumbass.”

*~*~*

When they sit down to eat – together for the first time in months – John’s hands shake minutely as he reaches for the salt and Dean tracks the movement. He really hasn’t been drinking today. Dean looks up, sees the dark circles under his eyes and takes note of his sallow face. He hasn’t looked healthy in years. But he looks so much worse today. And Dean knows that’s the start of withdrawals. But why?

Dean isn’t stupid. He doesn’t get his hopes up or anything absurd like that. But it’s been such a long time since Dean has actually seen evidence of John carrying through with his promise to sober up. He can’t help the way his heart flips. Maybe this time will be different, he wants to think. But then squashes that when he remembers the way John nagged him this morning.

“So, what’s going on?” Dean asks, determined to get through this conversation one way or the other.

“What do you mean?” John asks, chasing a stray carrot around his plate. He’s not going to eat it, Dean knows. He’s only taken a few bites so far. 

“Cooking?” Dean says, and then digs even deeper, despite the warning flash of John’s eyes, “And you haven’t been drinking today.”

For a minute Dean thinks he’s just instigated a fight. But then all the fire goes out of John’s eyes and he drops his gaze back to his plate. “Made you a promise, right? That’s all.”

Dean laughs and stuffs a potato in his mouth and then, around it, says, “Yeah, when I was like, ten. It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Dean kind of wants to kick himself because he should be supporting his dad and not poking fun at him. But it’s defense more than hostility.

“Better late than never,” John replies and he sounds so sure of himself. Dean hasn’t heard that kind of confidence from him in so long. So he just nods and tucks back into his plate. This all feels very fragile. Like he could crush this progress, minimal as it is, with nothing more than a few misplaced words. Instead of starting in on John’s behavior this morning, Dean decides to let it slide. As long as it doesn’t happen again, he’ll leave it be. Besides, things seem really good right now. Except for the fact that he’ll probably be helping clean up vomit most of the night. But at least it’ll be from withdrawal sickness and not from drinking. That he can do.

After he cleans up their dinner, he checks his phone and sees that Sam hasn’t texted back since their meager exchange earlier.

_Jo wasn’t too hard on you was she?_

Dean hits send on the text and falls onto the couch, giving very little of his attention to the western John’s watching on the old TV. His phone vibrates almost immediately.

_Nah. She’s nice._

Dean grins and shakes his head. Sam isn’t wrong, of course. But he also doesn’t know Jo as well as Dean. She can be feisty.

_Oh. She’s got you fooled._

_So she’s not nice? She seemed nice. I think she’s nice._

His eyebrows drawing together, Dean studies the text. Something about it. Sam’s an English major and he just used ‘nice’ three times in as many sentences. It feels… odd.

_Are you drinking?_

_Mightve had a couple or six beers. The room is spinny._

Dean laughs quietly, glances up to make sure John is still sufficiently distracted. The last thing he wants is to argue about Sam again.

_Lightweight._

Dean’s phone buzzes almost instantly and he smiles. Obviously Sam is just sitting there waiting for Dean’s texts. Or maybe he’s stretched out on his bed. Shirtless. One hand playing with the button on his jeans.

 _Bigger n you._

Dean has to swallow down the moan that tries to work its way out of his throat. Because really? He did not need that kind of opening paired with the imagery he’s building in his head at the moment.

_Yeah?_

He sends a vague reply, leaving it up to Sam where to take it. He eyes his dad again and contemplates getting up to leave the room. But, for the first time in a long time, John isn’t hammered. And Dean kind of wants to reward him for that by _not_ leaving him alone. Besides, he can handle a few naughty texts without popping wood. Maybe?

_Yeah. Bet I could even pick you up. Whens the last time someone could pin you against a wall?_

Dean shivers. Head to toe. Noticeably. So much so, in fact, that John turns a bit in his chair to look at Dean where he sits on the couch. 

“Cold?” John asks, confusion written all over his face. And it only grows when Dean shakes his head. But after a minute he turns back to the TV with a shrug and Dean takes a deep breath.

_That what you wanna do, Sammy?_

Yeah, it’s tame. But he’s sitting a few feet from his fucking dad. And he should probably remedy that. Sneak off for a few minutes or something. But before he can make his escape his phone buzzes again. And it’s like a train wreck. He can’t _not_ look right the fuck now. 

He almost chokes when he opens the text. Because it’s not text at all. It’s a picture. It’s a shot taken from Sam’s view down his body. And yeah, he’s shirtless, abs rippling with the strain of holding himself up. He’s wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and god. His cock is fucking huge. His got his hand around the base, letting it rest in the v created by his thumb and pointer finger. He’s not even squeezing and it looks long and thick, standing tall and probably still restrained a bit by the material covering it.

Before Dean can get his brain back on line, another box pops up and there are words this time. Words he will eventually read. Whenever he can stop drooling over the pretty cloth covered dick and the tasty looking stomach. And is that… god, is that a _wet spot_ where the head is pressing into the material? Or just a shadow. Fuck. He hopes it’s precome.

_Wanna do a lot more n that._

Dean manages to control his body this time, but those words accompanying that picture has him almost shaking. What the fuck is wrong with him? It’s not like he doesn’t ever get laid. It happens often enough. And he’s had hot guys before. Sent some naughty texts and pics. So why does Sam turn him on so much? Why does he feel this near uncontrollable urge to get in his car right now and drive over there so Sam can fulfill every damn fantasy he has?

“Be right back,” Dean tosses out as he stands and makes a beeline for the downstairs bathroom. He hopes like hell John didn’t see the rather impressive hard on he’s sporting. But he’s got to get somewhere else before they continue this.

He closes and locks the door behind him and then sinks down to the floor, reaching to his waist to pop the button on his jeans. And then, on a whim, he snaps a picture of his fly hanging open, obvious bulge pushing his boxers out the opening. He sends it without a second thought.

_Like what Sammy?_

He waits with bated breath, cupping his throbbing erection and fucking praying Sam doesn’t pass out just yet.

_You’re gorgeous, know that? Just so goddamn pretty._

_Wanna spread you out on this bed and taste every inch of you._

_Wanna sink my teeth into those fucking amazing thighs._

_Wanna fuck you so deep and so hard you scream for me._

_Wanna wake up next to you and kiss you and hold you._

The texts come in almost rapid fire succession, one after the other and Dean goes from massaging his aching dick to smiling at the sweetness of the last one. But before he can reply to any of it, he gets another.

_This is fucking crazy. I hardly know you._

And then his phone is ringing and the caller id lights up with _Sammy_.

“It’s goddamn insane,” Dean says by way of greeting, “but I don’t care.”

Sam laughs and Dean leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Sam’s voice drifts over the connection, and Dean can tell he’s had a few drinks, but he’s not drunk. Dean has a lot of practice listening for the nuances and speech patterns of drunkenness, even over the phone.

“Me either,” Dean replies honestly.

“’S scary. Because yeah, I mean, you’re fucking hot, so of course I wanna bend you over the nearest available surface,” Sam stops and seems to consider for a second, and then continues, “Or the other way ‘round. ‘M not picky. But the other stuff. That’s terrifying, y’know?”

Dean knows. He really does.

“You mean kinda how I can’t stop thinking about your dimples? And the way you light up when you talk about school? How I want to hold you and run my hands through your hair just to hear you sigh? Just to feel you wiggle closer?” Dean grimaces at how cheesy he sounds. But it’s easier over the phone. And there’s also the fact that Sam’s a little tipsy. Somehow that boosts Dean’s courage.

Sam’s quiet for several beats and then he exhales loudly and says, “Yeah, that stuff. It’s weird, right? It’s not even been two days.”

“It’s weird,” Dean concedes, “A little anyway. But we don’t have to rush anything, Sammy.”

“That’s another thing. I never let anyone call me Sammy. Not ever. I fucking hate it. But you do it and… well. I don’t.” Sam groans and Dean grins.

They’re both silent for several seconds and then Sam huffs, “I guess I should go. My head’s all loopy and I might say something really fucking stupid. Sorry ‘bout screwing up the sexting shit. But I really didn’t even mean for that to happen. I just got carried away I guess.”

“That’s alright. It’s payback for this afternoon. I sort of deserve it after being all pushy and then leaving you high and dry.”

Sam chuckles but it almost sounds sad, “That’s okay. I, ah, enjoyed it anyway.”

“Yeah, me too, Sammy. Hey, get some sleep, okay? I’ll send you a text when I get ready to leave the house in the morning.”

“Alright,” Sam says, and then, “I’ll see you in a few minutes, I guess.”

“A few minutes?” Maybe Sam is drunker than Dean realized.

“Yeah. Been dreaming about you.”

Dean chuckles, “Night, Sammy.”

“Night, Dean.”

It feels kind of familiar, like déjà vu but also not. Dean hangs up the phone and stands, stuffing it in his pocket. Yeah, it’s definitely weird. He honestly barely knows Sam but it feels like they’ve known each other forever. Like maybe they’ve spent a lifetime together.

Dean fastens his pants back and splashes some cool water on his face before leaving the bathroom. He’s got a long night ahead of him. If this is anything like the last time John tried to dry up and failed, Dean will spend most of the night getting him through the tremors, cold sweats, and vomiting. At least this time he’s not a scared little kid.

Back then, it’d been a threat from social services to remove Dean from his care that had prompted him to try. And he’d done good just long enough to get them off their case. But then he’d started right back. That’s when they’d developed their ‘don’t talk about it’ policy.

What’s troublesome for Dean though is that this time, he has no clue why John’s suddenly decided to sober up. And it’s really nagging at him. Because it has to be something huge. John doesn’t just put the bottle down for anything. Dean knows firsthand.

But he doesn’t get long to dwell on it because he runs into John in the hallway as he’s stepping out of the bathroom. He looks pale and shaky and Dean doesn’t even need to be told, he just shifts to the side and then follows John into the bathroom. He’s filling the cup on the sink with water and wetting a wash cloth when John violently heaves for the first time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tuesday. Again.
> 
> I feel like we're dipping into a couple of rather boring chapters. I hope the next few don't disappoint. And I'm sorry if anyone is starting to lose interest. Sam's not going to wait much longer. Promise. Two, maybe three chapters after this.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who is reading this. I appreciate your kudos and your comments. And I also appreciate your time reading. I hope you always walk away from things I've written feeling like it's time well spent.

  
  


_Sam watches with a fond smile as Dean shoves a bite of greasy burger into his mouth. He thinks he should probably fuss at him, because that is so not healthy. But his brother just looks so blissful that Sam can’t get the words out. So he lifts his own fork to his mouth and watches Dean enjoy his meal._

_He’s beautiful, Sam thinks. Softly sloping cheek bones and sharp jawline. His lips are plush and curved perfectly. Sam desperately wants to touch. So he does. He reaches across the short expanse of table and cups Dean’s jaw. He gets a soft smile and a greasy kiss pressed to the center of his palm for his effort._

_And then the waitress drops a piece of pie in front of Dean and the check in front of Sam. But Sam’s attention is on the way Dean’s eyes follow the sway of her hips as she walks away. Jealousy, ugly and fierce wells up in him. But when Dean turns back to look at him, exasperation and fondness evident in the quirk of his pretty mouth, Sam forgets it instantly. Dean belongs to him. Only to him._

_Dean is his. His brother, sure. But also his partner. His lover. His everything._

Sam wakes slowly from his dream, hips shifting into the mattress below him. But his arousal is background noise to the overwhelming feeling of being exactly where he belongs. When he comes completely to though, the arousal takes over as reality sets in. He comes spectacularly against the bed as the remembers the way Dean’s mouth closed tightly over his own fingers, licking and sucking pie filling off the digits just before the dream started to fade into the morning light spilling over the bed.

Brushing away the last remnants of sleep and wincing at the mess in his pajamas, Sam sits up and promptly groans when he remembers what he did last night. Shit. Not only did he attempt, and badly at that, to sext his brother, he sent a very obscene picture. And got one in return. Well, at least he doesn’t have a hangover. So there’s his fucking silver lining.

Deciding to skip his run because he’s not sure what time Dean’s planning on leaving today, Sam takes a quick shower and tries not to think too much about his conversation with Dean last night. He fails miserably. Because he keeps remembering the way Dean had talked about his dimples and wanting to just be close to him. And he feels guilty. So much worse than before.

Now this is isn’t just physical attraction. It’s turning into something else on both their parts. There’s the potential for Dean to be genuinely hurt as well as angry. And Sam wouldn’t be able to blame him for either. Maybe he should just tell Dean today. This morning before they go out.

He decides that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He doesn’t really have a choice. Charlie was right.

He’s just finished downing a yogurt and a banana when his phone rings. He steels himself to tell Dean they need to talk and answers the phone.

“Hey, Dean.”

“Morning, Sammy,” Dean says, but he sounds tired and distracted. So Sam gets slightly derailed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, look, I know I told you we’d go out today, and I really want to. But my old man’s not doing so well right now.”

Sam is immediately suspicious. He knows that John doesn’t approve of them, and for good reason honestly. And he’s also gathered that John regularly stands between Dean and a normal life. But none of this is Dean’s fault, so he tries to keep his ire in check when he responds.

“That’s um, that’s okay. Is he… I mean, has he been drinking?” Sam hates to even ask because it feels extremely personal. But the man is his father too and Dean shouldn’t have to carry the burden alone. Never should have had to. Besides, this is part of having a relationship with Dean, no matter what form that relationship takes.

“Actually, no. And that’s the problem,” Dean’s voice drops a few notches and Sam hears the distinct sound of a door being shut, “He’s going through withdrawals. I came home yesterday, Sammy, and he’d cooked. Like, actual food. And he was working on the car and not drinking. Then I noticed him shaking at dinner. We spent all night huddled up on the bathroom floor. And, man, I’m just exhausted. But he’s still really sick. I can’t leave him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. Do you need help? I could, I don’t know, watch him while you get some sleep?” Sam really, really doesn’t want to do that. But he also doesn’t want to leave Dean alone to deal with this. He’s been doing it too long on his own anyway.

“No, Sammy, you don’t have to do that. And I’ve done this before with him. It’s been a few years, but, if it goes like it did last time, he’ll be doing a little better by Wednesday and drinking again by Friday.”

“Is there anyone who can help you if you won’t let me?” Sam asks.

“Ellen will help and so will Bobby. I just called Ellen and she’s going to come over tonight. Bobby’s going to sit with him tomorrow. So maybe we can catch a matinee or something then? I hate this because I feel like our time together is so limited. But I can’t leave him, Sam. He really might drown in his own puke or something.” Dean sounds honestly sorry, and Sam doesn’t doubt that he’d rather be hanging out with him. Plus, this gives Sam a little time to prepare his ‘you’re my brother sorry I kinda sexted you’ speech.

“It’s fine Dean. Really. I’m not going anywhere for a while anyway. It’s not like I can leave with my car still screwed up.” He means for it to be a joke, but Dean swears.

“Shit. Sorry, man. Look, even if I’m not back on Monday, Ellen will handle the orders and Ash can fix you up by Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“I was kidding, Dean. It’s no big deal. I’m probably going to go on and pay for another week here anyway. And I am seriously not in any hurry to leave.”

Sam can hear the smirk in Dean’s voice when he says, “Yeah. You haven’t gotten to prove to me that you can pick me up yet. I’m gonna need to experience that at least once before you go.”

Sam smiles but it feels broken, “We’ll see.”

“Oh, now you’re a tease. You’re gonna be my downfall, Sam Campbell.”

Sam just hopes he’s not right.

*~*~*

Dean hangs up with Sam, sad that he had to cancel, but grinning from ear to ear because Sam seemed to understand. And just because. Sam makes him feel things. Things he never imagined he’d get to feel. And he doesn’t want to use the L word. Not yet. It’s seriously too soon for that. But something close. Maybe a start.

“Dean?”

John’s voice, sounding raw and haggard, pulls Dean out of his thoughts, and he drops his phone in his pocket and opens the bathroom door. He’d shut himself up in there to keep John from hearing his conversation. No need to get him going about Sam right now. Especially not since the irritability is starting to set in.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stepping into the living room where John is curled up on the couch, shivering under a blanket. He’s been alternating between freezing and burning up all night.

“Is there any bread?”

“Hungry?” Dean’s already making his way to the kitchen to fix toast. It’ll probably be the only thing he can keep down for the next few days.

“Yeah. And call Bobby, let him know I won’t be there today.”

Dean doesn’t bother calling Bobby. He talked to him last night. But he fixes the toast and sends a few texts back and forth to Jo while John eats. And then they try to get some rest, John rolled into the back of the couch and Dean kicked back in the recliner.

They’re still sleeping when the doorbell rings and Dean opens his eyes to see they’ve been out a couple hours. He stumbles a little on his way to the door, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He’s confused because he’s not expecting Ellen until later. She and Ash keep the shop open until two on Saturdays.

When he opens the door he’s greeted with the sight of Jo and Sam, arms loaded down with food. Dean’s kind of frozen for several seconds. He never would have imagined he’d find Sam on his doorstep. And it’s not like he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but it’s still a little embarrassing to think about Sam actually witnessing it. Him telling Sam about it is one thing, but it’s a little too soon to be airing his dirty laundry so publicly.

“Where’s Michael,” is the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Well, hello to you too,” Jo answers, pushing past him when he doesn’t invite them in, “Michael is with mom at the shop right now, dork. Move or I’m gonna drop this shit.”

Dean steps aside, his brain still stuck around the fact that Sam is standing there. And god, he looks good. He’s in a red Stanford t shirt and a pair of jeans, just casual as you please but somehow he still looks like he stepped right out of a fucking magazine with his slightly tousled hair brushing his jawline and his pretty hazel eyes. He’s wearing an apologetic expression and yeah, Dean feels like an ass now. 

“Sorry,” Sam says, low, eyes darting toward the kitchen where Jo disappeared a moment ago. He steps all the way in and lets Dean close the door, and then they’re almost chest to chest in the little entryway. “I tried to tell her you probably wouldn’t really want me here, but she was persistent.”

Dean chuckles and tries to lighten the mood as he adjusts his shirt – the same thing he was wearing yesterday, still covered in grease even – and tries to make sure his hair isn’t sticking up all crazy, “Yeah, that’s Jo for you. But no, it’s fine. Really. I’m just still half asleep.”

Sam reaches up then and gently bats Dean’s hands away, using his own to rub Dean’s hair down and Dean’s heart stops and then jerks, starting back double time. Sam’s fingers card through his short hair, ruffling it a little before patting it a few times. And Dean wants to melt into a puddle of goo or maybe purr.

“There you go, good as new.” Sam smiles at him as he lets his arms fall to his sides again and Dean desperately wants to pull Sam into a hug or a kiss or maybe both. But just as he decides to do it, Jo pops her head around the corner.

“You guys can make out later. Right now there’s food on the table.”

Sam blushes and it’s the cutest fucking thing ever.

“Come on, Sammy. I think I saw pie.”

Dean might have missed his opportunity to kiss Sam, but he doesn’t miss his chance to slide his hand into Sam’s slightly larger one and lace their fingers together. And Sam lets himself be pulled into the kitchen.

Ushering Sam to the table, Dean pulls out a chair for him and motions for him to sit. He hates to let go of Sam’s hand, but he reluctantly releases it so that he can get plates out. Jo and Sam fix their plates while Dean fixes one for John and Dean is pleased to find that Jo and Sam get along spectacularly. In fact, they get along so well, that neither of them really seems to notice when he slips out with John’s plate.

John is still curled into the back of the couch, but he’s not resting as easily now. He’s shivering and groaning and Dean feels a pang of sympathy. He tries to stomp it out because it’s his own fault, right? Except it’s not. Not really. So Dean bites down on the anger that tries to surface, and lets the sympathy take over again. It’s always like this with how he feels about his dad. Just a slew of conflicting emotions that all start or end in guilt.

“Hey,” Dean says soft, reaching out to rest his free hand on John’s quaking shoulder. John startles and bats his hand away. A gruff almost question comes from the vicinity of his head, but there are no words in it. So Dean tries again, “Hey, you need to eat something.”

John turns then and his face, what little of it Dean can see under the covers, is still so pale and covered with a light sheen of sweat. “Why? Not gonna stay down.”

“Yeah, but having something to throw up is better than dry heaving around stomach acid, right?”

And John must think Dean has a point because he rolls all the way over then and sits up, drawing the blanket tighter around him. He takes the plate with a shaking hand, but Dean was careful not to put too much on it just for this reason.

“Nan?” John asks, bringing a fry to his mouth.

“Yeah, Jo and Sam brought it. Got a whole table full of food,” Dean answers, flinching slightly when he says Sam’s name, but refusing to leave him out. His dad will just have to adjust, goddamn it. Besides, he’s dealing with this shit, right? He’s always dealt with John’s addiction in one form or another. And hasn’t ever complained about coming second to a bottle. So yeah. Fucker can get over it, Dean thinks sullenly.

But John just nods and finishes the fry in his hand. And Dean exhales, suddenly aware of just how tense he’s been since Sam’s name left his mouth. He doesn’t know why John’s decided, out of the blue, to weigh in on Dean’s love life, or, sex life as it were until Sam’s breezed into the shop a couple days ago. And he also doesn’t know why John’s trying to dry up right now either. But he’d be willing to bet the two are related somehow.

“Can’t,” John says around another fry, as he drops the plate and stands, making a beeline for the bathroom. He almost makes it. Almost. But then he’s on his knees in the hallway and Dean’s hovering over him. Not much comes out. The half chewed fry and its counterpart that actually made it to his stomach and some bile. But John heaves repeatedly as if there’s more and he’s just can’t get it out.

“Washcloth?” Comes Sam’s voice from Dean’s left and Dean doesn’t have much time to feel the shame that heats his face, because John jolts forward again, gagging on nothing as his body shudders violently and Dean drops down beside him. He brushes the salt and pepper hair back from John’s forehead, feeling how clammy he is and he sighs.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, “They’re in the cabinet over the toilet. Cool, please ,” Dean points toward the bathroom and Sam doesn’t even pause. He just steps around John’s body, now almost fetal in position.

“Can you sit up,” Dean asks, low, close to John’s ear. But John shakes his head. So much for dignity. But, at this point, who even cares? It’s not like John’s alcoholism should reflect badly on Dean. Hell, Dean, because of this, has always been very careful with his drinking habits. This isn’t his fault and he is determined never to end up here.

“Here,” Sam says, kneeling beside Dean and their bodies take up almost the entirety of the entrance to the short hall. But Sam seems intent on staying exactly where he is, and his hand is warm and comforting where it’s resting on Dean’s thigh as he balances himself.

“Thanks.” And that comes from John, surprising both of them if the way Sam jerks is any indication.

“You’re welcome,” Sam replies, brows furrowed and shrugging when he meets Dean’s eyes. Because just yesterday John had been sure Sam was bad news. And now? Well, that was almost sincere.

“Do you need help getting him back to the couch,” Jo asks from behind them and apparently that’s enough to make John snap.

“ _He_ can walk. _He_ is right fucking here. So don’t talk about _him_ like _he’s_ some deaf/mute invalid,” John practically growls the words and Dean’s indignant, “Hey, don’t talk to Jo like that,” blends with Jo’s disregarding, “Whatever. Need help, Dean?” She’s unflappable. Just like her mama. And she probably went through this a time or two with her old man before he died.

But John must realize that he’s being an ass, because he apologizes almost instantly and sounds genuinely contrite, “I’m sorry, Jo. But I think the boys can handle it.”

And she just nods and retreats back into the kitchen. As soon as she’s gone, John says, “Maybe now isn’t the best time to have company,” and he looks at Dean as if it’s his doing.

“Yeah. I’ll just let _you_ call Nan up and explain why she can’t send food or help. We’ll see how well that goes,” Dean retorts, only half joking.

“Does this whole fucking town know-”

Dean cuts John off as he grips him under the arm and hefts him up so that he’s sitting, “Everyone else’s business? Yeah. The fuck you been, dad?”

John huffs, but lets Dean get him most of the way to his knees and when Sam reaches out to help, he accepts his hand as well. And by the time they get him back to the couch, Jo’s cleaned up John’s plate and brought the kitchen trash can, lined with a fresh bag, out to take up residence by one of the end tables.

“Thanks, Jo,” John offers, obviously still trying to make up for his snappiness earlier. But she still doesn’t seem bothered; she just smiles and makes her way back to the kitchen. And then it’s just the three of them. Sam takes a seat in the recliner Dean was occupying earlier, like he plans on staying a while.

“You should get a shower, Dean,” John says, eyeing the stains on Dean’s shirt with disgust. As if that’s somehow worse than the mess he just made in the floor. A mess that it looks like Jo is going to clean, because she comes back with a small pan of water and a sponge.

“I shouldn’t leave you on your own,” Dean says, despite the fact that he would love to get cleaned up a little. Especially since Sam is here.

“Go ahead, Dean,” Jo says, “I need to get back to the diner, but Nan can handle it for a little while longer.”

“I’m fine, Jo. You should get back.”

“Well then, what about Sam?” She turns to look at the man in question, “Could you stay? I could come back and get you in a few hours.”

“No-” Dean starts, anxiety rearing its ugly head because there is no way he wants to leave Sam alone with his dad. Not right now especially, but honestly just not ever. And that’s not Sam’s responsibility. At all. 

But Sam says, “Sure,” just as John says, “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” And there’s something weird on both their faces that gives Dean pause. Something dark and almost dangerous. Something so oddly similar that it strikes Dean that leaving them alone together might not be exactly wise, aside from the fact that he just doesn’t want to.  
`  
“See? And now you can shower and get some rest. I’m sure Sam and John can manage for a little bit without you,” Jo says, dropping the sponge back in the bucket and standing up. And she looks very pleased with herself. Like her intention all along was to just drop Sam off.

“Jo, could I talk to you for a minute?” Dean asks, pulling his gaze off his dad and Sam long enough to drag her into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Dean whispers, leaning back to look around the doorjamb and keep an eye on the two men still sitting silently in the living room.

“Look, mom said your dad was being an ass yesterday. And then this. I think he’s trying to keep you from spending time with Sam. So show him he can’t,” Jo shrugs and steps around him to grab her purse off the counter.

“It’s not Sam’s job to look after my detoxing old man, Jo. That’ll run him off faster than Dad being an ass,” Dean grates our between gritted teeth. But Jo just shakes her head.

“He didn’t seem bothered by the idea on the way over here. He said you sounded tired and he wanted to help. So _let_ him.” She smiles and pats his shoulder before surging up to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek, “Besides, you stink and you have bags under your eyes. If _that_ doesn’t run Sam off, nothing will.”

With that she pokes her head in the living room and waves bye to Sam and John, “I’ll be back in a few hours, Sam. Don’t let John grump at you too much. I’d blame that on his current predicament, but the truth is he’s just an ass. So give him hell.”

John waves at her in a universal motion meant to indicate she should take her shit elsewhere, but there’s an underlying fondness in the gesture and she doesn’t take offense.

“See you later, boys. Behave.” And with a wink in Dean’s direction, she slips out the door.

When Dean walks back into the living room, there’s a palpable tension in the air even though they’re not even looking at each other. But it’s still the same expression on both their faces. Tight jaws and narrow eyes and it sets Dean on edge.

“Look, Sam, you don’t have to-”

“Get a shower, Dean,” John says, and it’s an order, just like he used to do before the alcohol took over and Dean grew almost as tall as he is. But every bone in Dean’s body wants to obey. It’s fucking annoying is what it is.

“Sam?” Dean asks though, surprised at his own flirtation with disobedience. But, even after years of following every command John gives without thought, something about having Sam here gives Dean permission to second guess.

“It’s fine, Dean. We’ll be alright. Get a shower. Nap for a little while if you want. I can clean up vomit,” Sam says almost derisively.

“Okay,” Dean says, making up his mind as he backs toward the stairs leading up to his room and bathroom. He feels almost like he’s leaving live dynamite in the same room with a raging fire. But Sam’s expression softens minutely and he smiles at Dean which gives Dean just enough reassurance to practically fly up the stairs to take the quickest shower of his fucking life.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it Tuesday again? I hope you guys enjoy this one!

  
  


Sam waits until he hears a door shut before he speaks. And when he does, his voice is level and controlled, none of the anger he feels leaks into the words falling from his lips, “You can’t keep him from getting to know me.”

Because yeah. Sam sees this for what it is. Dean might be confused, might not know why John picked right fucking now to stop drinking. But Sam does. John knew how sick it would make him. He knew he would require Dean’s undivided attention for several days. It’s conniving, a strategic move on John’s part. And he’s so goddamned pissed that he can’t even look at the man right now. Dean deserves better than this bullshit.

“I’ll just be satisfied if I can keep him out of your bed,” John says, bitingly. But Sam isn’t affected. Not as much as John probably hopes anyway.

“It’s not like that,” Sam says, even though it’s exactly like that and they both know it.

“Did you ever plan on telling him? Or is this some attempt to screw me over? A huge fuck you to the daddy who left you behind?” Sam knows John means for it to sound hateful but it just sounds sad. Like maybe John regrets it even though he doesn’t want Sam to know that.

Sam laughs and finally turns to look at the man again, taking in his ragged appearance and the pallor of his skin. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, as if he finds John lacking. And he does. He really does. “Wow. You really think this is about you? You have _never_ held a place of any importance in my life. Mom was more than enough for me. And, from the looks of things, she was better off without you.”

John is blotting the washcloth he’s still gripping over his forehead but he stops suddenly and turns his head to meet Sam’s gaze. And for the first time they’re just kind of staring at each other. Taking each other in. It almost feels, to Sam, as if they’re drawing battle lines. But then John says something unexpected.

“I’m sorry,” He drops his eyes to the washcloth again, ringing it in his hands nervously, “about your mom. She was… she was something else,” he sounds wistful and sad, like he’s honestly mourning her loss.

“Look,” Sam says, ignoring John’s words because he cannot deal with that right now, doesn’t even know how to process it, “I’m going to tell him. I never meant… I should have told him that first day. But…”

“But you thought you’d fuck him first?” John spits, back to his cantankerous self.

“No,” Sam protests, “I’m not even sure what happened. But I’m not going to… I wouldn’t ever…”

“If you don’t tell him, I will. How do you think he’ll take it coming from me, Sam?” It’s meant to be a threat, Sam knows. But what John isn’t counting on is Sam calling his bluff.

“I think he’d take it very badly. He’d probably want to know why the fuck you waited so long to tell him he has a brother. He’ll probably realize you were keeping me a secret to secure his devotion to you. And then, after he figures all that out, he’ll be just as pissed at _you_ for not saying anything as he is me. This is not a scenario where you win, John.” Sam spits his name like a curse and leans farther back into the chair. And if he’s shaking inside, at least it doesn’t show. Because to the outward gaze, he’s the picture of cool, calm, and collected. “But if you wait, you can claim ignorance. Hell, maybe you didn’t even know, right?”

John sighs and drops his head, defeated. And then he nods.

“You’re wrong about why I stopped drinking,” he says instead of arguing.

“Oh yeah?” Sam says, hoping he appears bored even though he’s far from it. Why else would John have decided to stop right now?

“Yeah. I just didn’t want you to see me like that. Or like this,” he adds with a humorless chuckle.

“Me?” Sam asks incredulously, “What about Dean, John? All these years he’s been putting his life on hold to take care of you and you never quit drinking for him. So don’t fucking bother doing it for me. I told you, I’m not here for you anyway. I’ve always known about you and never even considered driving out to meet you. I didn’t decide to come until Mom told me about Dean. So don’t put yourself out trying to impress me.”

“I tried-” John starts, and Sam knows there’s more he wants to say, but they hear a door creak from up above and then Dean’s pounding down the stairs. He steps off the bottom step out of breath and still adjusting his shirt. He looks amazing with his hair damp from his shower, barefoot in a pair of dark wash jeans and an old, threadbare Pink Floyd shirt. He takes Sam’s breath away and Sam tries to rein in the lust he knows he must be radiating. He mostly fails. But it’s okay, he figures. John already knows Sam has hard on for his brother. And, strangely, that doesn’t bother Sam as much as it probably should.

Dean stops at the double doorway leading into the living room, eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and John several times before he asks, “Everything okay?” Like he expects one or the other of them to jump up and storm out of the room. And Sam smiles at him, standing and moving forward to fix his left sleeve that’s folded up weirdly.

“Fine.” Sam lets his fingers linger against Dean’s heated skin, a silent ‘fuck you’ to the man on the couch, “Did you ever eat earlier? Jo left the food out for you.”

Dean’s cheeks are lightly flushed and it could be from his exertion coming down the stairs but Sam thinks it’s probably because of Sam almost petting him and fretting over him in front of his dad. Dean’s eyes dart behind Sam and he’s trying to decide if he’s going to fall into this or keep a little distance for John’s sake. Sam watches the emotions battle on Dean’s face and he wants to step back and give Dean space. He shouldn’t force Dean into a situation with which he is obviously uncomfortable. But there’s a part of Sam’s brain that _needs_ John to see this. He needs for John to understand that Dean no longer belongs to him alone. And Sam thinks Dean’s near deference to him earlier was the beginning, but not quite enough.

And it’s not even that Sam wants to dominate Dean or anything. Not like that. But just the little time he’s spent with both of them, he knows how their dynamic works. And he also knows he’s been upsetting it since he and John silently squared off yesterday with Dean between them. So yeah. The dominance he’s asserting isn’t over Dean at all. He wants _John_ to understand that he’s the alpha male now. Or will be soon, at any rate.

“Nah, never got around to it,” Dean says finally making a decision. And Sam internally jumps for joy when Dean reaches out to touch his arm, that same glint of defiance that was in his eye yesterday morning when he kissed Sam’s cheek in front of John.

Happy with the display they’ve just put on, Sam slides a hand around Dean’s waist and guides him toward the kitchen, fingers tracing gently over his opposite hip. “Come on then. You’ll be alright long enough for Dean to eat, right?” 

John’s grumbled, “Yeah,” is only half heard by Sam.

“What did I walk in on back there,” Dean asks as he grabs a plate. He’s heaping fries and a couple mini burgers on the plate when Sam shrugs, pulling a glass out of the cabinet Jo had pointed out to him earlier. Sam pours Dean a glass of the sweet tea Nan sent and sits down across from him at the table.

“Nothing. He’s just… concerned about you, that’s all.” And it’s not a lie. John’s a jackass for sure, but Sam knows he loves Dean and he’s probably very worried.

Dean rolls his eyes but accepts the answer. He takes a few bites in silence and then says, “I’m sorry about skipping out on you today. This was supposed to be a fun day and instead you’re here helping me babysit an old drunk. God. I’m sort of a fuck up in case you haven’t figured that out yet.” Dean sighs, dragging a fry through a puddle of ketchup.

“This isn’t your fault, Dean. Your dad needs you and I get that, okay?”

Dean huffs and nods. “Yeah. He has impeccable timing,” he mumbles, stuffing another fry into his mouth. Sam tries not to focus too long on Dean’s mouth. But his lips are goddamn perfect and they’re all shiny from the greasy food he’s consuming. It’s giving Sam some not so pure thoughts.

“You know, Ellen will be here soon.” Dean glances up at the clock on the wall to their right, “Any time now, actually. We could still go out. Maybe shoot some pool again? Or darts this time?”

Sam is shaking his head even before Dean finishes talking. “You need to rest. You’re exhausted.”

Looking at Sam from under his too long lashes, Dean chuckles self-consciously, “Do I look _that_ bad?”

Sam smiles, suddenly almost shy. He tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, telling himself to stop. Right _now_. But he’s a hard headed bastard and Dean is just too… “You look amazing,” Sam replies, heart thumping erratically when Dean inhales sharply. And he knows his eyes have to be dark with lust as he rakes them appreciatively over every inch of Dean he can currently see. But fuck. It doesn’t feel like he has much control over this anymore. They’re rolling downhill at breakneck speed and Sam is just along for the ride.

Dean’s blushing and god that never gets old. But he’s nothing if not bold, and he pushes his plate aside and leans forward, toward Sam. “Then let’s go out. We’ll get a six pack and go back to the motel.”

There’s no air in the room anymore. Sam is drowning in the green of Dean’s eyes and the invitation he sees there. And fuck if he doesn’t want to just say yes. But then he remembers his conversation with Charlie last night and he bites down on the eager reply pressing at the back of his teeth.

“You need to sleep, Dean.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue but the doorbell rings and Dean’s lips snap shut. But he gives Sam a look that says the discussion is long from over. 

It’s Ellen, of course. Michael is also tagging along and Dean introduces Sam to the little boy he’s only ever seen from afar. He’s blonde haired and brown eyed, just like his mom. And there’s something about him, a grit, Sam supposes, that sits odd in his eight year old body. But he’s tough. Like his grandma and his mom. Maybe even a little like Dean. Sam likes him instantly.

“Your daddy in the living room?” Ellen asks, and Dean nods. He seems torn between staying with Michael and Sam and following Ellen. So Sam steps in.

“Go ahead, I got him,” Sam offers, ushering Michael toward the kitchen and returning the grateful smile Dean throws his way.

Sam fixes the boy a plate as he plops down in the seat Dean just abandoned, Thor action figure clutched in his small hands. Michael shoves a whole mini burger into his mouth and grins when Sam points to the toy.

“You like the Avengers, Michael?” Sam asks, thinking, surely, the kid probably just likes the Marvel movies or comics. But he’s surprised when Michael just shrugs.

“’S okay,” he says around his mouthful of food, “Didja know Thor’s dad’s name is Odin? And he has a spear that never misses! Oh! And a horse with _eight_ legs. And it carries warriors into Valhalla.”

Sam is thoroughly impressed. The kid knows his stuff. 

“His name is Sleipnir,” Sam agrees.

“Yeah. Loki had him. He’s a boy. But sometimes boys have babies too, right? He tricked a magical horse to save Freya and the sun and moon.”

Sam finds himself smiling and nodding and before he knows it, he’s recounting the tale of the fortification of Asgard and Loki’s trickster ways. The boy has obviously heard the story before so Sam feels only a little guilty telling such a sordid tale.

~*~*~

“Dean can handle it,” John says when Ellen drops the overnight bag she brought along with her on the recliner.

“Like hell he can,” Ellen replies, her tone discouraging any argument. Well, Dean wouldn’t argue with it anyway. But John is another story. His survival instincts obviously aren’t as well honed.

“Go home, Ellen,” John grumbles, leaning back on the couch where it looks like he’s been sitting with his head between his hands since he and Sam walked out of the room earlier. He rests his head back against the back of the couch and closes his eyes. And, to Dean, it reads ‘conversation over.’ It’s an order of sorts that Dean wouldn’t ignore. Ellen, on the other hand, barges on through it. Like always.

“Dean needs to rest and you need someone here for a little while who isn’t afraid to tell you that you stink. Get your ass in the shower.” Ellen butts her foot against John’s, jolting him slightly. And when he lifts his head there’s fire in his eyes. It’s a mixture of standard John response to being told to do anything and irritation from the withdrawals he’s sinking into even deeper by the minute. But Ellen just cocks her hip and lifts an eyebrow. It’s a dare. One that John doesn’t accept.

“Fine,” is all he says, defeated and deflated, as he stands and makes his way down the hall to the room at the end. It only takes him a few seconds to come back out with a fresh change of clothes and then lock himself in the bathroom.

When the water starts, Ellen turns to Dean. “Go pack a bag. You can camp out on my couch tonight.”

“I shouldn’t,” Dean replies, because he doesn’t want to leave Ellen to deal with this on her own, “He’s going to be almost uncontrollable before this is over. I’m not even sure he’s not going to end up in the hospital.”

They hadn’t had to hospitalize him last time, but that was years ago. He’s been drinking heavily ever since then and Dean’s not even sure John completely detoxed back then. So who even knows how bad this could get. He does know, though, that it’s dangerous to quit cold turkey like John’s doing. And he knows what to watch for in regards to if or when he needs professional help.

“I can take care of him. This ain’t my first rodeo, kid.”

“Yeah, but, I should be here just in case.”

“No. You’re going to take Michael and Sam back into town. I need someone to pick Jo up and give her a lift back to the house. And she said she was supposed to come back and get Sam, but now I have the car. So you handle all that and I got your daddy.”

Ellen sinks down into the recliner and grabs the TV remote. She eyes the old western John’s been watching and rolls her eyes. McLintock gets changed to Fast N’ Loud and Dean can just imagine how much John’s going to bitch about that. But Ellen can hold her own and Dean would be willing to bet they spend the next couple of hours watching the antics at Gas Monkey Garage.

“Are you sure?” Dean asks above the din of the television. Because he doesn’t want to leave his dad, but he is exhausted. And, well, maybe he’ll end up with Sam tonight instead of rolling around trying to get comfortable on Ellen’s lumpy couch.

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Go, Dean. Bobby’ll be here tomorrow. So we can keep him in line until tomorrow night. And if he needs to go to the hospital, I know how to call an ambulance.”

Dean snorts, “Not even on his worst day would he let himself be carried out of here in an ambulance.”

“Yeah, well, I can haul his ass to the car if I have to.” She turns back to her show then and Dean knows that’s the end of the conversation. Not that he expected this to end any other way. Not too many people find opportunity to disagree with Ellen and win.

By the time Dean’s got his bag packed and makes his way back to the kitchen, passing a grumpy but clean John glaring angrily at a ’65 Mustang fastback on the television, Sam has the kitchen squared away. All the leftovers have been disposed of or stored in the fridge, Dean doesn’t really know. And Sam and Michael are sitting on opposite sides of the table but leaned across it toward each other. They’re saying something about Thor and Loki and Dean stops in the doorway to listen for several minutes before Sam catches sight of him lounging against the frame.

“Hey,” Sam smiles softly at him, standing to push his chair up and then taking in the bag Dean’s dangling by his side.

“Getting out of here for the night,” Dean answers the unasked question, “Ellen offered me her couch.”

“You’re staying with us? Oh man. Can we watch Transformers?” Michael jumps up from the table and throws his arms around Dean’s waist in excitement.

“Well, you’ll have to ask your mom, buddy.”

Sam grabs the toy Michael left on the table and passes it to him when he lets go of Dean.

“I gotta pick Jo up from work and I’m going to give you a ride back into town too since Jo won’t be able to come and get you now that Ellen’s got the car.”

Sam nods and waits by the door while Dean and Michael say their goodbyes, waving at Ellen when she leans around the doorframe to tell him to behave. And then they load up in his baby, Dean tossing is bag in the trunk before he slides into the driver’s seat.

Dean offers to take Sam back to the motel once they roll into town, but Michael begs him to come over and watch movies and, when Jo gets in the car, she joins in. And to Dean’s utter relief, Sam gives in, meeting Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror from the backseat (where Michael begged him to sit) and giving him a small smile. They grab pizza and then drive the few miles out of town in the opposite direction from his house to Ellen and Jo’s.

Dean feels like he’s moving in a sleep deprived haze as he scarfs down a couple pieces of pizza and downs a beer. Sam sits beside him at the table, one hand massaging at Dean’s neck randomly. Dean finds himself grinning, probably almost goofily, every time he reaches out to touch him again. And Jo keeps shooting knowing looks across the table at them. Michael, for his part, seems eager to finish his slice and get to the movie that Jo has agreed they can watch.

By the time they make it to the couch, Dean is doing good to hold his eyes open. Thankfully, Jo and Michael curl up on the small loveseat and leave the couch for Sam and Dean. And they start off on opposite ends, but they’ve barely made it past the previews (which Michael insists on watching) before Sam has kicked off his shoes and reclined against one arm, pulling Dean into him.

Dean ends up with his pelvis tucked tight in between Sam’s hip and the back of the couch and his upper body sprawled across Sam’s broad chest. His ear rests right over Sam’s heart and he can hear it racing away. He smiles to himself because at least he isn’t the only one nervous as fuck. But he’s too tired to be overly worried about much of anything and the position only serves to get him halfway hard before he starts to doze.

At some point, he feels Sam pull the throw folded over the back of the couch down to cover them. And vaguely he registers the quiet after the movie has been turned off. The room gets darker through his closed lids. And he thinks he mumbles something about taking Sam back to the motel, but Sam shushes him. And he is _almost certain_ Sam kisses the top of his head a few times after everything around them has gone completely silent and still. But then sleep takes him too deep and he loses awareness altogether.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a few hours early because I have some things to do tomorrow and I'm not sure how much time I'll have. The next chapter is the one you've all been waiting for. But this one has some sexy times. So maybe it'll hold you over until we get to the drama.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who are hanging in there with me. I appreciate you taking the time to read and if you leave comments or kudos I'm loving that too. You're awesome.

  
  


Sam finds it hard to sleep with the weight of Dean’s body stretched out on top of and alongside his own. He spends most of the night dozing off and on and hating himself for how much he’s enjoying this. He still hasn’t told Dean despite his resolve to do so. And yeah, okay, that’s partly because he knows Dean will put the brakes on whatever this is. But he’s also scared Dean will want to cut contact completely. What if he is so disgusted by what they’ve done so far, how deeply Sam has deceived him, that he never even wants to look as Sam again?

Sam tightens his arms around the warm body draped over his and tilts his face to press a kiss into the top of Dean’s head. God. He doesn’t want to give up this closeness. He’s perfectly willing to continue on their current trajectory despite their siblinghood. But Dean might not be willing to carry on with any relationship with Sam whatsoever. And Sam can’t give this up. He’d thought he was losing everything when his mom got sick. But then she’d given him Dean. And now he’s probably fucked that up.

“Thinking too hard, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, rubbing his face into the center of Sam’s chest before laying a kiss over the fabric there.

“Sorry,” Sam whispers, resting his cheek on the top of Dean’s head and letting one hand dance lightly up and down Dean’s back, trying to lull him back to sleep.

“’S okay. Whatcha thinking about?” Dean kisses him again, a little higher this time, so close to the collar of Sam’s shirt and Sam can’t stop the little moan that escapes his mouth. Dean chuckles, dark and dirty.

“You,” Sam says, digging himself a little deeper, but god. This is a safe spot. There’s no way Dean will want to go farther than some heated kisses out here on the couch. Not with Jo and Michael so close. And if Sam is going to lose him when he finds out, Sam wants as many kisses to remember as possible. He might as well be all in.

“Yeah?” He still sounds so adorably sleepy, but very interested in whatever Sam is thinking about. His mouth moves higher and he nips at Sam’s collarbone through his shirt before one hand creeps up to pull the material to the side. And then there’s just Dean’s mouth on his skin, hot and persistent. His tongue sweeps out to taste the dip at the base of Sam’s throat and Sam’s head tilts back, opening as much skin to Dean’s mouth as he can.

“Yeah,” Sam breathes, and that jittery, electric feeling starts coursing through his veins when he works up the courage to let the hand sweeping up and down over Dean’s back slide under his shirt. Dean hisses the moment Sam’s hand makes contact with his lower back and his hips stutter forward. The move drives his half hard cock into Sam’s hip and Sam whimpers.

“Good thoughts?” Dean’s voice is gritty and shaky, like he’s just as lost in this as Sam is. It’s heady as fuck and rather than answer him, Sam lifts his head and fits his fingers under Dean’s chin. Their eyes meet briefly, Dean’s green irises almost glittering in the moonlight seeping through the blinds. Sam has a moment of utter shame but it’s overshadowed by the need he feels. And he brings their lips together, swallowing the almost helpless squeak Dean lets out.

There isn’t much talking after that. Aside from whispered encouragement between kisses, the only thing Sam hears is the rustling of their clothing and the soft smack of their mouths breaking apart and then coming back together.

Dean’s hands wander all over his chest, sliding his shirt up and connecting with skin and Sam shivers under his touch. And Sam isn’t idle, the hand on Dean’s back rests just against his waistband, fingers dipping under only a fraction of an inch. But his other hand finds its way up the front of Dean’s body, fingers tugging at a peaked nipple because it seems to prompt Dean to roll his hips every time Sam pinches.

Finally, when Sam is flushed and achingly hard, Dean pulls away, panting damply into the side of Sam’s neck. Their lower bodies are still writhing slowly and softly, but their hands are staying firmly above the waist and Sam doesn’t know whether to find that relieving or frustrating. He goes with a weird mix of the two.

“Gotta stop,” Dean grates out, but his groin keeps pushing into Sam’s hip and Sam is doing nothing to discourage it.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling Dean tighter against him, increasing the friction and pressure on Dean’s now raging hard-on. Dean whines low in his throat and Sam hums his encouragement, guiding Dean to ride his hipbone with the hand still clutching at the small of Dean’s back.

“Not helping,” Dean chides with an airy laugh.

“Really? Not helping _at all_?” Sam can’t help but to groan, twisting his lower half to try and get some friction against his own throbbing cock.

“Shit.” Dean shifts and pushes himself into the back of the couch, one arm dropping down to Sam’s waist and guiding him over. It’s a tight squeeze, getting them face to face on the couch because neither of them are exactly small people. But Sam isn’t complaining because the lack of room forces them together from chest to knees. And Dean adjust a bit, sliding his leg between Sam’s to give them a little more room but also align them perfectly.

 

“God,” Sam whispers, nudging his nose against Dean’s, just barely brushing their lips together, “are we really gonna do this here?”

Dean nods and shoves his hips toward Sam, their dicks thrusting together through two layers of denim. It’s so goddamn good. But not nearly enough. Sam wants them naked and spread out on a bed together. No chance of getting caught, even though it does give him a little thrill. But he wants to take his time. Wants to work himself or Dean open and do this right. But Dean is shaking in his arms, driving himself against Sam’s body and there’s no stopping this.

“It’s gonna be messy,” Sam says into Dean’s mouth and Dean shrugs.

“Almost morning anyway. We can sneak out afterwards. Get a shower in your room.”

Dean’s still rutting against him and Sam is meeting him shove for shove. They should wait and do this there. But Sam knows if he waits, if he doesn’t seize the opportunity right now, he won’t allow himself or Dean this pleasure. _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ he thinks. And then he captures Dean’s plump lips and increases the pressure between them.

*~*~*

Sam’s body is long and solid and so damned warm against him. And his cock, that long, thick cock, is snugged right up beside Dean’s and it’s all too much. Fuck, the ride into town is going to be uncomfortable with come in his underwear, but Dean just can’t care. Not when’s he _right there_ and Sam’s tongue is licking at his palate.

Sam comes first, but it’s a close call because he’s still shaking apart with a punched out groan around Dean’s tongue when Dean stiffens and spills into his clothes. The whole time, Sam keeps on kissing him, frenzied tongue fucks shift into gentle lips gliding softly over his own. And Dean finds himself grinning from ear to ear despite how gross he feels downstairs.

“We should clean up a little before we go,” Dean says, low and relaxed, between presses of Sam’s lips. But Sam doesn’t stop. His fingers are trembling when he splays one huge hand over Dean’s jaw and holds him still. Dean just accepts the next few kisses Sam offers him and then turns to brush his mouth over Sam’s palm when he pulls away.

“Yeah,” Sam says, swallowing and laying another kiss to Dean’s cheek. It’s so sweet and reverent, the way he’s touching Dean. Like Dean is something precious, something to be cherished and treasured. He feels his face heating and he presses it into Sam’s broad chest for several seconds, breathing in the scent of him – and fuck he smells so good – before pushing up and off the couch. He has to climb over Sam in the process and Sam pulls him down for another quick kiss before he lets him up. Dean could really get used to this. And he’s spent most of his life thinking he just wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. He was so fucking wrong.

They take turns cleaning up the best they can in Ellen’s small bathroom and then Dean grabs his overnight bag and they head out. And when they drive into town, it’s still dark. Too early for breakfast even at the diner. So they go to Sam’s room and they each take a shower. Separately even though Dean puts up a pretty good argument that showering together is much more practical and efficient. And by the time they’re both clean and they’ve stopped for several mini make out sessions – giggling like teenagers every time they corner one another – the sun is coming up.

Dean really wouldn’t mind just pushing Sam into his bed and spending the whole day rolling around in his sheets naked. In fact, that is exactly how he wants to spend his Sunday. But their stomachs are growling, so food is a must. And Dean really needs to make a trip to Wal-Mart. Plus, he _did_ promise Sam a legitimate date, complete with a real dinner and a movie. On top of all that, he has to be back home tonight to relieve Bobby (who is supposed to take over for Ellen around lunch). So there’s no time for marathon sex right now.

He pouts while Sam ushers him out the door, but Sam’s only halfway putout smile is totally worth looking like a child. They walk to the diner and eat at the bar. Jody comes in when they’re finishing up their coffee and Dean introduces Sam to her. She tells Dean to give her best to John and Dean promises he will even though she doesn’t sound very sincere. But when they stand to leave and she tells Sam that it was nice to meet him, she does. She’s good people. Really. Even if she doesn’t care much for his old man. Hell, half the time he doesn’t either.

Sam readily agrees to a movie and dinner and says he doesn’t even mind tagging along for a mindless trip to the store for a few things Dean can’t get at home or prefers to buy elsewhere. The movie they see is loud and obnoxious, explosions left and right and Dean’s not sure there’s a plot to be found. But that’s okay because he has a tub of extra buttery popcorn in one hand and the other cupping Sam’s shoulder. Sam leans into him and even lets Dean steal a salty, greasy kiss from time to time huffing out a quiet chuckle when Dean tries to lick the taste of his chocolate covered raisins from his lips. But there’s something off simmering just under the surface that Dean can’t seem to figure out.

He hopes it’s just the lingering memory of their morning antics. He hates to think that the time Sam spent with his dad or maybe having Dean drool on his chest part of the night has put a wedge between them. But later, after the movie and shopping, when Sam looks at him over their meal – grilled chicken for Sam and a medium-rare sirloin for Dean – the heat is still there. And Dean thinks it might even be amplified. So that could be it too, not so much distance born of a desire to get away but a need to put a little space between them so they don’t jump each other’s bones. Because Dean knows his mind has been almost one-track since this morning.

Just like it became infinitely more difficult not to claim Sam’s mouth at every turn after their first kiss, he’s finding it damn near impossible not to pull Sam aside and rut against him. Sam’s motel room was so tempting, and then the diner bathroom. The movie theater was delicious torture because at least he could lean over and taste Sam at regular intervals. And the store had been fun but also a pain in the ass because Sam had let Dean sling an arm around his waist and lay claim to him in front of everyone doing their Saturday shopping. That was nice but hell because every time they found themselves on an aisle alone, Dean wanted to ravish Sam.

And right now, with Sam’s eyes blown wide and staring at him across the table, he thinks Sam is probably feeling the same thing. This morning was good. Fucking amazing even. But it wasn’t enough. And Dean wonders if anything Sam could give him would ever be enough to sate this bone deep craving he has for the other man. He thinks Sam could probably give Dean his all, every ounce of himself he has to offer, and Dean would still seek more of him. He knows, in that moment, holding Sam’s gaze in the dim light of the restaurant, that Sam has effectively ruined him for anyone else. He can’t imagine anyone else sitting opposite of him. Doesn’t want anyone else. 

So when Dean’s phone rings on the drive back to town and it’s Bobby offering to stay the night so Dean can get some more rest before he has to manage on his own for a few days, Dean agrees. His eyes dart to the passenger seat where Sam’s watching him as he says, “Yeah, I’ll just get a room in town then.” And Dean gets a dirty little thrill at the way Sam’s face flushes as he turns to look out the window.

After Dean hangs up the phone, he’s silent for several minutes, focusing on the yellow line and the traffic they meet. He tries to remember if he got anything at the store that needs to be put in the fridge and decides he didn’t. He mostly gets those kinds of things at the grocery in town. And finally, when Sam seems to be content to watch the passing scenery rather than speak, Dean asks, “Would you be alright with me staying with you tonight?” And then hastens to add, “I can get my own room if you want.”

Dean really doesn’t want to do that. But he will if Sam is more comfortable that way. Hell though, this morning they rubbed off against each other rather spectacularly. So Dean isn’t sure why Sam is still hesitating to answer. But he is. He’s looking out the window and then down at his hands fiddling in his lap. Anywhere but at Dean. And then he runs his hands through his hair and huffs and it sounds frustrated and maybe a little sad. 

Dean winces and gives the road his full attention. He’s got a bad feeling about this now. All day Sam’s been running hot and cold and it could just be nerves but Dean’s getting a more serious vibe from the guy. 

“Look, man,” Dean starts, not really sure what to say but knowing he has to say _something_ because Sam doesn’t seem to be able to get any words out, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I know it can be a little unnerving sometimes, being with another guy. Right? And maybe this morning kind of freaked you out? You liked it and that surprised you. Or something? Maybe you didn’t like it as much as I thought you did. Doesn’t matter. Whatever. We can cool it a little if that’s what you need.”

Sam groans then and Dean chances a glance over at him. He’s staring at the roof of the car as if it might hold the answer to his problems, whatever they are. And Dean is just more confused than ever. Until today he’d thought things were going pretty well for them. But between John and the frottage this morning, it’s possible Sam is backing out. He’s probably just been trying to think of some way to let Dean down easy. That wouldn’t be much of a shock. Sam’s smart and attractive and honestly just entirely too good for Dean. He’s bigger than this small town Dean will never leave. Better than a mechanic with an alcoholic father. And it’s not like Dean will ever get out from under that weight.

Plus Dean’s getting way too attached to a guy who’s just going to leave in a few days or a few weeks anyway. God. Just this morning he was considering the possibility of a real relationship. What the fuck has he been thinking?

“I’ll just get my own room,” Dean decides out loud.

“No.” Sam suddenly finds his voice. “I mean, yeah, if that’s what you want. Okay. But if you want to stay with me, you can. I… uh… I want you to. To stay with me, I mean. It’s just… there’s something…”

Sam trails off there and Dean puts two and two together. The way Sam has been standoffish from time to time and then today, after their fun this morning, he’s been pulling away off and on. Fuck. He probably should have known from the beginning. No way is a guy like Sam single.

“Hey, if you have someone back home, it’s really not that big of a deal,” Dean says, even though it kind of is. Just the thought of anyone else’s hands on Sammy makes jealousy pool ugly in his stomach before it rises like bile to sit in his throat. But Sam isn’t his. Not really. Dean’s just borrowing him for a little while. So it’s not like he has any real claim on the guy. 

Sam snorts and shakes his head, “That’s not it. I wish that was it. That would be an easy fix.”

Dean finds himself squinting into the setting sun and shaking his head. None of this makes sense. For days now Sam’s been spinning his world on its axis, faster and faster, more out of control with every second. And now this? Some mysterious obstacle that Sam seems determined to play charades over rather than just spit it out.

“Then what is it, Sammy? Because I’m running out of ideas here. Whatever it is we’ll figure it out.”

Sam laughs then, but there’s nothing about it that sounds even remotely mirthful.

“Here’s the thing, Dean,” Sam starts, shaking and obviously scared as fuck, “when we get back to my room, we need to talk. And after that…” Sam stops and Dean glances over to see how red his face is, the tears pooling in his eyes as he swallows and continues, “If you still want to stay with me tonight, I’m game. Like, I need you to remember that, okay? Everything that’s happened so far, I was totally on board with. I’m so good with where this is going, despite everything. My only regret here is that you haven’t been. I’ve just kind of strung you along. God. I’m a fucking douchebag.”

“Sammy,” Dean replies around the growing lump in his throat. And what even is that? Is he honestly just seconds away from _crying_? Because he doesn’t do that. Not ever. But Sam just sounds so broken and Dean wants to pull the car over and hold him. But they’re almost back to town now, so he just presses the pedal a little harder and refuses to let a single tear escape. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. You can just tell me. It’s not going to change anything for me. I’m still going to want-“

“Don’t say that,” Sam cuts Dean off sharply, “Just wait. After, if you still want… _whatever_ it is you’re wanting here, you can have it. Or, if you want something different afterwards, we can figure that out too. Just um… let’s just get back. I don’t really think driving down the road is the place to talk about this.”

Dean nods and pushes the pedal even harder. Whatever’s got Sam twisted in knots is obviously pretty serious. But Dean isn’t even thinking about how it might affect him. He’s just desperate to relieve Sam of the burden this secret it putting on him. Dean will deal. No matter what it is. He hopes.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the one we've been waiting for. I'm nervous as hell because I know some of you have really been looking forward to this (or seriously dreading it). And I hope you don't find it lacking.
> 
> Enjoy (I hope) and thank you for commenting, leaving kudos, or just reading. You're awesome.

  
  


The last few miles back to the motel are passed in silence. And Sam is grateful for it. He needs to get his thoughts in order. He’s been dreading this moment since the first time Dean smiled at him what seems like ages ago. Because this feels like giving up this amazing thing that’s been growing between them. That’s the last thing Sam wants. Or the next to last maybe, because the last thing Sam wants is to continue deceiving Dean. And the thing Sam wants the very most is for Dean to still want him even with the knowledge that they’re brothers hanging between them. 

So he has to tell. And maybe what Dean says is true. Maybe it won’t change anything between them. Or it won’t change anything for the worse. But Sam doubts that. He figures, at the very least, they won’t be sleeping together tonight. Dean probably won’t even want to occupy the empty bed across from Sam.

They’re both quiet as they pull into the parking lot and step out of the car into the fading day. Dean grabs his bag from the back seat while Sam fumbles the door open. And then they’re just standing there. In the almost dark of the motel room Sam has called home for several days now. One he really hopes to keep calling home. At least for a few more weeks. But that all depends on Dean now. Because Sam will leave as soon as his car is fixed if that’s what his brother wants.

Brother. That word is so twisted for him now that Sam doesn’t even know how’s he’s going to get it out of his head and into the open between them. He doesn’t know how he’s going to say it without Dean instantly knowing what the word has been doing to Sam for a while now. Because even in his head it sounds filthy wrong in the very best way. 

Sam shakes his head and steps forward to pull out one of the chairs at the small table. He gestures for Dean to sit across from him on the bed that’s currently holding Sam’s things. Dean drops his bag right there with Sam’s and for a moment it feels utterly familiar. Dean’s army duffle looks right sitting beside Sam’s own duffle. Like that’s where it belongs. And Sam rolls his eyes at his own ridiculousness. 

“So,” Dean says, sinking down onto the end of the bed, hands anxiously digging into his own knees, “What is it, then?”

“Okay, um…” Sam starts, running both hands through his hair and studiously staring at his own feet. God. He doesn’t even know where to start. “So, uh, do you remember how I told you my dad left before I was born?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, totally unaware, complete confusion evident in his voice and on his face as well when Sam looks up at him from under the stray hairs hanging in his eyes. “He didn’t want kids or something. So your mom raised you.”

“He didn’t want _another_ kid,” Sam corrects, wincing and biting his lip when Dean tilts his head to the side, still unsure just why this should be such a revelation. But then, suddenly he gasps and sits up straighter, eyes darting to the ceiling for several seconds before they land back on Sam’s face. And oh god. He’s catching on. Or maybe caught on but still lingering somewhere in denial.

“What was your mom’s name, Sammy?” The question comes out on the tail end of a long exhale and, by the end, barely even there. But Sam hears it anyway and knows they’ve hit the point of no return. Part of him regrets opening this can of worms at all. He could have just strong-armed John into keeping his mouth shut and let Dean remain in the dark. But even as he thinks it, he knows he couldn’t have. This is the right thing to do, even if it hurts. 

No. Actually, the right thing to do would have been to tell Dean right off the bat. Day one. But he can’t really hate himself too much for that either because at least now he knows what Dean tastes like. He knows the choked little sounds Dean makes when he comes. And he knows how it feels to have Dean’s eyes on him, nothing but adoration present in their green depths. And that’s worth it. Whatever happens now.

“Mary,” Sam offers, and then, lips pulled into a tight line, he adds, “Campbell,” because he is a goddamn glutton for punishment and hey, at this point he might as well drive the last nail in the coffin. “Mary Campbell.”

“She was…” Dean sighs, shoulders slumped as he runs a hand over his face and then opens his eyes to meet Sam’s gaze across the small space separating them, “She was really nice, Sammy. I… I never knew why we left. He didn’t tell me. But they were together for a while and I remember her being so nice. I kept wishing she could be my mom.”

Dean is quiet for so long after that Sam starts to wonder if Dean understands just what Sam’s told him. He doesn’t seem pissed enough. Does he even realize that John is the dad who left? Does he get that Sam is his fucking brother? That he’s been leading him on this whole time? That Sam is so utterly fucked up and wrong that he let his own goddamn brother kiss him? Rub off against him?

“So… wow,” Dean stands then, hands going to his hips first and then hanging by his sides and then, like a shield, he crosses them over his chest and leaves them. “I always wanted a brother,” Dean says, but it’s hollow and finally there’s some emotion creeping into his stance and his words. But it’s not the blind rage Sam’s been expecting.

“What was this, Sam? Is this you trying to… I don’t know… get even? Are you mad because I got him and you didn’t? But, I’m sure you realize by now that he’s no prize. Fuck, you probably had it easier without him. You should be thanking me for keeping him out of your goddamn life, Sam. You got the loving mom and the stable life and fucking college. A future, Sam. You got it all. And here I am babysitting _our_ addict dad so you can have all that. And you know what? I don’t even mind. I don’t. Because obviously you love school and you’ve done well. And if I’d known about you, that’s what I would have wanted for you. I’d have done this for you either way, Sam. I swear it.”

Dean just sounds hurt. Well, angry too, that’s definitely the undercurrent Sam’s getting. But mostly he’s just sad and pained and Sam feels like the biggest fucking jerk on the face of the planet.

“I know, Dean. I don’t doubt it. You’d have been a great br-“

“ _Don’t_ say it like that. Just. Just don’t. I _am_ your brother, Sam. Half, sure, but still. I _am_. And we… _god_.” Dean sits then, just plops right back on the end of the bed, letting his elbows rest on his knees so his arms can hold up his head. His fingers sink into his hair, pulling slightly and he’s still for several moments while Sam flounders for something to say. Anything that might make this better.

“So were you? Trying to stick it to me? Or dad? Oh fuck,” Dean cuts himself off, back going ramrod straight as he lifts his head and looks at Sam again, face redder than Sam’s ever seen it, “He knows, right? He has to know. Oh shit. That’s why he acted so weird when I told him your name. Great,” Dean growls, “I’ve got the hots for my goddamn brother and my dad _knows_ and doesn’t fucking say a word. You know, I wish I could say it’s surprising. But his emotional constipation is legendary. He was probably just trying to protect himself.”

Sam isn’t even really all that upset that John’s caught. Sure, he’d kind of hinted that he might protect John’s image when Dean found out the truth, but hey, Dean figured it out on his own. Still though, it feels wrong to let Dean think John is being completely selfish, though he’s sure that’s part of it.

“I think he didn’t want to hurt you. He’s trying to keep us apart, if that’s any help. And I kinda threatened him when he said he was going to tell you yesterday. I made him promise to let me do it. I was always going to, Dean. You have to believe that. I promise this wasn’t… I’m not jealous or petty. I wasn’t trying to… I never meant for this to be the mess it is. I just got caught up and I didn’t know what to do.”

Dean snorts and he’s still eyeing Sam suspiciously, like he doesn’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth. And he deserves that, he supposes.

“Whatever. He’s a bastard. And you’re an asshole,” Dean tosses the insult out with venom, but there’s something else lacing his words, something like desperation. Maybe even bordering on hysteria. Sam gets it. He really does. And he knows Dean has every right to feel however he feels. But hope is blooming in Sam’s chest every second Dean doesn’t storm from the room.

“I am. I really am. I’m so sorry, Dean. If I could go back-“

He stops there and bites down on the lie he was about to tell. He won’t do that anymore. Dean gets the truth from here on out. Nothing but the honest to god truth. And if Sam could go back, he’s not so sure he’d do anything differently.

“Yeah, I know. Hindsight, right? I mean, if only you could have known that dating your secret brother might not be the wisest idea. Look, I have to… I need to think.”

Dean stands again then for just a second before lowering himself once more and Sam thinks of a yo-yo. That’s all Dean’s done since this conversation started. Yo-yo up and down. But hey, it’s not like there’s a protocol for this sort of thing. He’s pretty sure there’s no _How to Cope With Finding Out You’ve Been Groping and Making Out With Your Sibling For Dummies_ book to outline just how one should behave in this situation.

“Do you want-” Dean starts and then grimaces and stands again, “You know what? Never mind. I need to go.”

Dean picks his bag up just as Sam stands and grabs his arm, so that he has to stop and listen before he walks out the door, maybe for good.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sam says fiercely, “I want. I want _you_ , Dean. In whatever capacity I can have you. A brother. Or a friend. Or… anything, _anything_ more than that. I’ll take less if I have to. I just don’t want this to be it. _Please_ don’t let this be it. Take time to think it over. I can stay or I can leave. Let me know what’s more comfortable for you. But please don’t cut me out. I just found you and I don’t want to let you go yet. Or Ever.”

“ _You_ want? _You want_ this. _You want_ that. _Me. Me. Me._ Do you even hear yourself, Sam? The perpetual little brother, huh? It really shouldn’t be a shock, I don’t guess. You rolled into town and insinuated yourself in my life with no concern for me or what I might want or need. You kept taking and taking without a single thought for how it might impact me when the truth came out. And now here you are telling me what you want, what you can live with. What about me, Sam? What if what I want is for you to leave and never look back? What then?”

Dean jerks his arm free of Sam’s grip and there’s heat in his eyes that speaks of the fury building inside of him, but his eyes are still broken and sad more than anything else. So Sam tries to calm the fear roiling in his stomach, making him nauseous and causing him to shake almost uncontrollably. _He doesn’t mean it. He’s pissed and he’s hurt. He doesn’t mean it._

“Then I leave. I put you and this town in my rearview mirror and never look back.”

 _Not lying,_ Sam thinks, _Not lying. Not lying. Not lying._ He’s not going to lie to Dean anymore. He can do that if he has to. If it’s what Dean wants. He thinks. Maybe? Just the thought sits heavy and sharp in his gut, twists and cuts like a fucking knife.

Dean watches him through narrowed eyes for several long seconds, seemingly looking for any hint that Sam is deceiving him further. Finally he appears to be satisfied with what he finds there and he nods.

“Good. I’ll let you know. Just… your car will be ready by Wednesday at the latest.”

With that Dean turns and stalks out of the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, Sam has to grip his own forearms where they’re crossed protectively over his chest. His nails dig into the skin as he fights the urge to chase after Dean. To apologize over and over again, wear Dean down with his contrition. _Make_ Dean forgive him.

But he doesn’t. In the end he slowly lowers himself to the chair again as the Impala rumbles away.

*~*~*

Dean doesn’t know where he’s going. He can’t go home right now. He can’t look at John, not knowing what he does now. And yeah, it’s partly because he’s pissed at the man for not saying anything. But he’s also embarrassed. For days he’s been pining over someone who was lying to him. His own goddamn brother. And all along, John knew. Watched him… fuck. Watched him flirt with Sam and kiss him. Saw an intimacy between them that Dean _never_ lets his dad see. Wouldn’t have dreamed of it before Sam. He feels like a fool.

And Sam. God. That hurts. Really, it’s not like he’s known Sam long enough or well enough to be _in love_ with him or anything ridiculous like that. No way. Not to mention the fact that Dean doesn’t fall in love. With anyone. Ever. He was just… it felt good. Felt… familiar in a way, despite the fact that Dean’s never wanted someone like he wants… _wanted_ Sam. Wanted. Past tense. Because Sam is his brother and Dean doesn’t want him like that now. _Can’t_ want him like that.

Even if he can get over the lies and deception – and maybe he can because Sam was just out of his depth and things got out of control, right? – Sam is still his brother. Any relationship they form from this point on has to be built around that one fact. And that doesn’t allow for them to be anything more to each other than siblings.

He resolutely does not think about just how many times in the last hour or so, even before Dean knew, that Sam hinted at… well. Dean doesn’t even want to think the word. It feels nasty and doesn’t sit well in his mind. So he _makes_ himself say it out loud. If it’s disgusting in his head, it’s even worse on his tongue.

“Incest.” Dean barks out a half crazed laugh and adds, “If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

Shouldn’t be doing it either way. Besides. It isn’t like Sam _really_ wants that, right? At best the kid just let things get out of hand. At worst he purposely lied to Dean in order to exact some revenge or something. But there’s no way he actually wants _that_. The kid’s just really confused or really sadistic. Except he’s not sadistic and Dean would be willing to put money on that. And he didn’t sound confused. Not about what he wants from Dean anyway. And he’s _not_ a kid. Even if little brother somehow translates in Dean’s currently jumbled brain to ‘kid brother.’

So that just brings him back to Sam wanting… something. Something Dean is unable or unwilling to process. And fuck. He’s actually grateful his mind won’t wrap around it. Because if it did, then he might have to think about what, exactly, it is that he wants. And even though he’s angry at Sam for not considering his wants and ostensibly left to figure that shit out, he just has no goddamn clue. Doesn’t even know if he might be willing to… whatever. Just the thought scares the shit out of him because Sam is his fucking brother.

And when the next thought that runs through his head is, _And I’m not a brother fucker,_ followed by another laugh that sounds a little too off the rails even to his own ears, Dean makes up his mind. He points Baby south on his next round through town – his third? fourth? – and just lets her have at it. She was made for this, anyway. Belongs on the open road, unrestrained.

Dean drives out of town, leaving the few lights still shining in the twilight behind him. The road stretches out in front of his baby, dark and inviting and Dean just drives. He watches the front end of the Impala eat up the yellow line and presses his foot into the gas pedal harder. And it feels right, even if the seat beside him is too empty.

*~*~*

“I fucked up,” is the first thing Sam says when Charlie picks up on the second ring, “I fucked up and he’s gone and I don’t know if he’s coming back. He might… Charlie, he said he might just want me to leave and forget about him. How am I supposed to do that? I love him. I can’t just… and god, he was so _mad_. And hurt. I think that’s the worst part. It hurt him so much. I don’t know what to do. What if he tells me to leave? I think he might do it and-”

“Sam,” Charlie cuts in when Sam starts to run out of air and he gulps in several deep breaths and then starts to feel lightheaded. And he’s not _crying_ exactly. But there’s been some hiccups and maybe a few tears. He’s close anyway. So close to losing it.

“I really screwed this up,” He says around a sob that he refuses to release. It’s not like he’s ashamed to cry. He’s honestly not. He doesn’t buy into all that ‘big boys don’t cry’ bullshit. His mom raised him better than that. But he doesn’t want to cry with Charlie on the phone because she’d hop on the next greyhound headed his way. And while her presence would be very welcomed just now, he doesn’t want to put her through that. Plus, he made this mess, so it’s his job to clean it up. Whatever that means. He just needs a sympathetic ear right now.

“What happened, Sam? I guess you told him? And he took it bad?” Sam slumps back onto the bed where he finally managed to move after Dean had been gone for a couple hours. Once he convinced himself Dean wasn’t coming back. And from there it had been a foregone conclusion that he would call Charlie. He always calls Charlie or makes the small trek down the hall to her room when life is hard and he needs a friend. And boy does he need a friend right now.

“Understatement of the century. He was going to stay here tonight. But I couldn’t do that if he didn’t _know_ , ya know? I mean, last night we kinda… but there was no nakedness or anything. It was just some mutual frottage. But I couldn’t… it would have been rape if I’d had sex with him without telling him the truth, right? He’s pissed, but I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

“You did, Sam. Kind of. You did the right thing after first doing the wrong thing for entirely too long.” It isn’t an accusation, just the truth. And she delivers it in a way that says _I love you, you big dork._ And so Sam just nods even though she can’t see him. “And I’m sure he needs some time to think about everything. Did you apologize? Did you tell him you still want him in your life?”

Sam groans and grimaces, letting his head thump back against the headboard he’s leaning against. “I apologized. And I told him that I don’t want to lose him. I might have also suggested… I mean, we’ve already crossed that line, right? So I might possibly have thrown out the idea of just… continuing.”

Charlie is quiet for a couple of seconds and the silence feels so long Sam is just opening his mouth to remind her that it was _her_ idea in the first damned place. But then she says, “That’s good. He has all the info now and he knows where you stand. So just give him time to think about it, okay? Don’t freak out just yet.”

“Easier said than done,” Sam whines, rubbing a hand over his prickling eyes.

“Sam, do you remember telling me that Dean is perfect? Do you still believe that? Maybe not that he is actually perfect, but that he’s a good guy? Someone you care about? Someone you can trust?”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs into the phone.

“Then actually trust him. Give him the time and space he needs to process everything, because holy hell that’s a lot to process, but trust him. Okay? And if you need me, you just say so. I’ll be there so fast.” He knows she means it, is probably already pulling out a suitcase to pack just in case.

“No, it’s fine. I still feel like I need to do this on my own.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll have a bag ready.”

Sam laughs softly and shakes his head. What he did to deserve her he isn’t sure. He’s not quite ready to get off the phone yet though, so he stands to grab a beer from the mini fridge and says, “It’s pretty awesome here though. If things work out, you should come with me next time.”

“Yeah?” Charlie replies, relief flooding through the connection at his willingness to engage in frivolous conversation.

“Oh yeah. Hey, Dean has a friend named Jo. She’s blonde and pretty and so sweet. If you were the relationship type, I might think she’d be right up your alley.”

Charlie laughs and Sam relaxes even more at the sound, picturing her picking at the fringe on her bedspread like she always does when they talk about women.

“You know I can do relationships. I was with Dorothy for-”

“A long time,” Sam cuts in, and then, “But no one since. You spent all of high school with her and then part of college doing the long distance thing. And then nothing but a few first dates after you guys called it quits. You need to get out there again.”

“Hey, you’re not doing much better!”

Sam gives up a genuine, deep, mirthful laugh then, his tears retreating for the time being. “I’m probably doing worse. Where does ‘fell in love with my long lost brother’ put me on the loser spectrum?”

“I think that rockets you off the charts,” She answers, seriously before ruining it with a choked off giggle.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“That’s okay. I still love you despite your incestuous tendencies.”

Sam smiles. Yeah. God, he’s lucky to have her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Tuesday once again! 
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback you guys are leaving, it is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! And if you celebrate Christmas, have a great one!

  
  


_They’re standing side by side, the sleek, shiny black metal warm against their backs and they stare out over the horizon. The sun is setting slowly, swirls of pink and orange giving way to purple fading into blue and black. The beer in Sam’s hand is ice cold and the air swirling around him isn’t much warmer. He thinks they should probably be drinking coffee or hot chocolate. But instead of voicing that thought, he switches hands and warms his aching fingers on the heat of the car._

_There’s an unsettling sense of finality hanging between them and Sam’s trying not to suffocate under the pressure of the moment. This feels like an ending. Like he’s giving up something near and dear but he has no choice. The harder he clings to it, the more it wriggles and tugs against his grasp. But what? What is it that he’s losing? The knowledge is there, dancing right at the periphery of his thoughts. But whenever he tries to focus on it, to get a better handle on just what’s happening, it glides farther out of reach._

_The last rays of the sun are swallowed by the imposing black of the sky just as Dean pushes off the car, the lack of his body heat leaving Sam even more chilled. He slings his empty bottle sideways and Sam hears it clink against a rock. But then when Dean turns and says something to him, there’s no sound. Sam tries to ask him to repeat himself, but no words leave Sam’s mouth either. Still, Dean’s lips make the same shapes again and it hits Sam that they’re having a conversation he can’t even hear._

_After the third attempt, Dean looks aggravated but he finally just shakes his head and reaches for the door handle of the Impala. He wrenches it open and the hinges squeak loud in the silence of all they’re not saying. The door slams and Sam steps back just as the motor roars to life. He stands there, on a dark road as he watches the taillights of Dean’s car float down the highway, leaving him behind. And as they disappear over the horizon, he feels like this isn’t the first time Dean has left him._

He’ll be back, _Sam thinks with absolute surety as he lifts his bottle to his lips and takes one more swig._

The banging on his door wakes him up and he grunts, peeling his cell phone off the side of his face. Apparently he never dropped it after hanging up with Charlie, too tired and wrung out to do much more than pass out.

“Coming,” he calls out and he slips off his bed, terrified that Dean’s on the other side and will leave again if he isn’t fast enough. He stumbles toward the door and swings it wide open without even a cursory glance through the peephole.

“Have you seen Dean? I thought he would be here, but his car isn’t. Bobby’s been trying to get a hold of him all morning. He’s supposed to be back to sit with his daddy so Bobby can get back to the junkyard.”

Sam steps back to let Jo in, squinting against the midmorning sunlight pouring into the room. Dean’s missing? Well. That’s no surprise. In Dean’s situation, Sam would probably fall off the grid for a little bit too. But, for some reason – ha, as if he doesn’t know exactly why – he’s hesitant to tell Jo why Dean’s disappeared. So he does the only thing that makes sense.

“I can sit with him today.” He wants to punch himself afterwards because a day spent with John Winchester is not on his to do list and probably won’t ever make that list. But he kind of owes it to Dean. Not only is it Sam’s fault that Dean is currently out of commission, but it’s his responsibility too. Dean never should have been dealing with this alone.

“Are you sure?” Jo asks, pushing the door to behind her. “He can be a pain in the ass.”

“I think I can handle him. And I’m sure Dean will be back soon.”

“He didn’t say where he was going when he left this morning?” Jo looks at him quizzically, like she knows he has the answers and if she searches him hard enough, she’ll find them.

“He didn’t stay last night,” Sam says, avoiding the real question as he fishes out a new shirt and pair of jeans, “Do you think John would have a fit if I did some laundry while I’m over there today?”

“No, he’ll get over it. Bobby said he was getting a room so I just figured that meant he was staying with you.”

“Well, he didn’t stay here. Have you tried calling him?” Sam steps into the bathroom to change clothes but leaves the door cracked so he can still hear Jo.

“Mom did. She got his voicemail.”

“I’ll send him a text in a few,” Sam says, even though he knows he probably shouldn’t try to contact Dean at all. Still, Jo and Ellen are obviously worried. So if he can help at all, short of revealing the fact that Dean’s his brother and sort of pissed off about that, he should.

After he’s dressed, brushed his teeth, and collected his dirty laundry, Jo drives him to John’s house in Ellen’s car. Bobby meets them at the door and Sam shakes the older man’s hand as he thanks Sam for offering to help out. Sam tells him it’s no problem and soon enough Jo and Bobby are out the door and it’s just Sam and a sleeping John. 

He’s still on the couch and despite the fact that Sam knows he’s recently showered, he looks like he’s not touched any soap in weeks. His greasy hair is stuck to his head and he’s got a scruffy beard that was just barely stubble two days ago. And fuck but it smells like whiskey. Sam recoils when he gets closer to John and the smell grows stronger. It’s not fresh though. Not like John drank it. More like it’s seeping out of his pores because the underlying scent is of sweat, musky and acrid. He’s heard of people sweating alcohol before, but he thought that was just a saying. Like someone drank so much it was leaking out of them or something. But apparently that’s not just a figure of speech.

“Man, you need to get a shower,” Sam says loudly, delighting slightly in the way John jerks awake and glares up at him over the top of the blanket he has pulled up to his nose.

“Where’s Dean?” John grumbles from his nest on the couch and when Sam doesn’t answer right away he groans. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. That was sort of his response too. I’m not sure where he is even. So I’m your babysitter today. Get up and wash your ass and I’ll make breakfast. Toast? Eggs if you have them? Are you still throwing up all the time?”

John shrugs and slowly sits up, tossing his blanket off and gripping the edge of the couch with both hands like he’s not sure he’s going to stay upright. “Haven’t puked in a while. Maybe since yesterday? Or early this morning sometime. Not sure. So… he knows?”

“Pretty much. And you’re not off the hook either. I didn’t rat you out, but he’s not stupid.”

“Yeah, I figured,” John grouses and when he stands he’s a little wobbly, but he looks like he’ll probably make it through his shower without falling and breaking his neck. And Sam will consider that a win. “Toast is fine. Could probably do with a couple scrambled eggs if there’s any in there.”

Sam nods and hangs around in the living room with one eye down the hallway until John makes the trip to his room to get clothes and then back out and into the bathroom. When the water starts, he makes his way to the kitchen and starts his search for the things he’ll need to whip up a modest breakfast slash lunch – brunch? – for the two of them.

While the bread is toasting and he’s waiting for the skillet to get hot for the few eggs he’s beat for scrambling, he digs his phone out of his pocket and sends a text, not really expecting a reply.

_Please at least call Jo or Ellen. They’re worried about you. I’ve got John today. Maybe both of us will make it through the day alive._

He shoves his phone back into his pocket just as the toast pops up. The eggs get poured into the skillet and stirred off and on while he’s buttering toast and fixing their plates. And John shows up just as Sam’s turning to set everything out on the table. 

He looks better. His hair is still damp, but it’s not weighted down by too much grease or plastered to his forehead. He obviously took a warm shower because his skin is slightly pinker and the color makes him look less like he’s standing on death’s doorstep. Sam breathes a sigh of relief. All kidding aside, he’d probably feel like shit if the guy really did drop dead on him. Probably. No promises.

“You usually wear a beard?” Sam points to the salt and pepper scruff still adorning his chin and cheeks as he slides a plate and fork across the table to the seat John’s taken.

John shakes his head, reaching up to scratch at the hair. “Too jittery to shave it right now.”

“I could do it,” Sam shrugs. And he doesn’t really _want_ to. But if Dean sees he can be useful, maybe he’ll want to keep Sam around a little while longer. And then maybe he can visit sometimes. But first he has to be able to tolerate John. If shaving the guy’s beard gets him a little closer to Dean _not_ kicking him to the curb, he can man the fuck up and do it.

“Is that a ploy to get close to a major artery with a sharp blade? Or a genuine offer?” John asks, his voice still rough around the edges from all the dry heaving he’s likely been doing the last few days.

Sam chuckles and shrugs again, “Little bit of both?”

John stares at him for a minute before nodding and picking up his fork to stab a chunk of eggs, “Fair enough.”

They eat in silence for several minutes before Sam says, “I need to do a few loads of laundry.”

John’s reply comes immediately, “You give me a shave without me bleeding out and the washer and dryer are at your disposal whenever you need them.”

“Deal,” Sam agrees just as his phone vibrates. He crams the rest of the piece of toast he’s holding in his mouth and wrangles his phone loose from the denim trying to keep him from reading a text message that has to be from Dean. 

_Called Ellen. I’ll be back this afternoon. Try not to kill him. Please. For me?_

Sam attempts to bite down on the smile that blooms on his face at the way Dean is being so normal. But his fingers are trembling all over the place when he tries to type out his reply and John cottons on instantly.

“Dean?”

Sam just nods as he hits send.

_We just struck a deal. He’s going to let me wash my underwear and in return I’m not going to murder him._

_That sounds reasonable._ Dean sends back in a matter of seconds and Sam has to stop himself from sending another text. Space. Dean needs space. And Sam texting him constantly is probably not the best way to achieve the whole processing thing.

“How mad is he?” John asks as the scoots bits of eggs around his plate with the tines of his fork. Sam takes pity on him.

“I think he’s angrier at me than you, for sure. And I didn’t throw you under the bus. I told him I sort of threatened you into not saying anything. So you’ll probably get off the hook.”

Pushing his plate away, John shakes his head, “Not likely. All these years and I never told him. Right now he’s pissed at you. But when he has time to think about it, it’s going to fall on me. And I think that’s okay. It’s right, anyway.”

Sam sort of wishes Dean could be sitting here to hear this because he can tell by the look on John’s face, as if the words taste horrible leaving his mouth, that he isn’t accustomed to displays like this. He likely never shows much real emotion at all. It seems incredibly unfair that Sam’s getting to witness this and Dean isn’t. Kind of the same way it feels to be the reason he finally decided to stop drinking when Dean deserved that ages ago. 

“So… about that shave…”

Sam pushes those thoughts away because the only thing he’s likely to accomplish with that line of thinking is getting pissed on behalf of Dean. And that would be counterproductive to getting them both through the day relatively unscathed. So he picks up both of their plates and discards them on the counter by the sink before motioning for John lead the way to the bathroom.

Considering the fact that Sam has never shaved another man before in his life, it goes fairly well. He does nick John’s skin a couple times, around his jawline where the stroke is awkward to master backward, but nothing major. And by the time Sam’s toweling him off and admiring his handiwork, the bleeding has mostly stopped. He slaps on a couple small triangles of toilet paper to catch the last of the blood droplets and John actually says the words, “Thank you,” before he stands, still slightly unsteady on his feet, and eyes himself in the mirror. After nodding his approval, he makes his way out of the bathroom, Sam right on his heels in case he stumbles. But instead of turning toward the living room, he goes toward the door at the end of the hall. His bedroom Sam has been assuming.

“The washer and dryer are in the garage. Detergent’s in the cabinet over the washer. Remote’s on the table in the living room. I’m going to rest in the bed for a change.”

Sam doesn’t argue with him, but he does get him settled in the queen size bed against the far wall, trashcan from the bathroom positioned beside him just in case, before he leaves the room, the door clicking softly closed behind him. At least he doesn’t have to spend the whole day in John’s presence. 

As he passes the staircase on the way to the garage, bag of dirty clothes in hand, he stops briefly, staring upward longingly. Part of him wants to venture up there. Dean’s room has to be upstairs. And god, but he wants to snoop. But he stops short of actually connecting with the bottom step with his foot and instead marches resolutely toward the back door that must lead into the garage. He’s done enough damage, betrayed Dean’s trust too much already. So he’s just going to do his damn laundry and take care of John and mind his own fucking business. And when Dean comes back, Sam is going to outright _beg_ him for a chance to start over.

*~*~*

Dean had planned to just drive all night. He always does his best thinking with a road stretched out in front of him and the vibration of the tires rotating under him. But as much as he’d like to wallow or just ride off into the sunset and leave John and Sam to figure shit out on their own, he can’t do that. And maybe, upon threat of torture, he might admit that he doesn’t actually really want to leave them. But he’s pissed.

So he stops a few towns over, a couple hours away from home, and gets a room for the night and a bottle of Jack. He doesn’t normally do any heavy drinking. Just a beer here and there. But he thinks he’s entitled right now. And he’s comforted by the fact that, unlike his dad, he doesn’t expect to find any answers at the bottom of the bottle.

His room is the same nondescript décor as the motel Sam’s staying in and it makes him miss Sam’s hazel eyes and his lopsided grin for all of fifteen seconds. Because his mind then wanders to the feel of Sam’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip. And that thought can only have one destination now. _Brother_. Fuck.

So yeah. Dean spends his night sitting in the middle of a lumpy mattress drinking Jack straight out of the bottle. And he might, maybe, jerk off at some point. And it’s a possibility that the star of his jerk off fantasy is tall and broad shouldered with shaggy hair and the prettiest eyes Dean’s ever seen. Great.

By morning the bottle is half gone and Dean wakes up with his phone plastered to his face when it buzzes with Ellen’s number flashing. He doesn’t even bother to answer, just gets up to shower the stink of his binge last night off his sweaty skin. 

He feels like shit because he’s hungover but also because he sees John when he looks in the mirror and it makes his stomach turn. This is why he doesn’t drink hard. 

He packs up his few belongings and leaves the alcohol on the bedside table before he closes the door firmly behind him. His next stop is a convenience store for ibuprofen and then a Waffle House for something extraordinarily greasy. And by the time he gets Sam’s text he’s feeling a little better. Or he was anyway. Except now he knows his dad and Sam are alone together. And given the new information that’s recently been brought to light, he thinks that might be a very volatile situation.

But rather than deal with that, he calls Ellen. He has to, several times, reiterate that he’s _fine_. And when he tries to apologize for leaving her and Bobby hanging with his dad, she shushes him before he can finish telling her how sorry he is. She figures he’s due a short stint of immaturity she says and tells him they’ll manage until he gets back.

But she does press a few times, worried about what set him off. When he refuses to divulge anything more than, “Just got some thinking to do,” she sighs and he can almost see her rolling her eyes.

He doesn’t know why he’s not telling her the full truth. It’s not like he needs to protect Sam or anything. Of course he’s a little embarrassed, but he remembers Ellen wiping his ass for him as a kid, so it’s really not _that_ big of an issue. He’s not really to blame anyway. Sam lied to him and deceived him and he knows Ellen will take his side. But still, he keeps quiet and promises to come home in a few hours.

He texts Sam back and lets him know that he plans on coming home soon and then quells any urge he has to keep texting back and forth. He’s not forgiving Sam that easily, even if he sort of wants to. Besides, he didn’t drive this direction for nothing when he left last night. He has things to do. Or one thing, really.

Glancing at his watch, Dean sees it’s well past ten and figures that’s probably a good time to get going. He only has about thirty more miles to go, but he needs to get the lead out if he’s going to get back home before dark.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little later than normal. The kids are out on break so I've been wrestling five kiddos all day!
> 
> Here's the thing about John and him leaving Sam, I struggled, as I was writing it, with having some huge elaborate reasoning behind John walking out. But in the end, my own experience kind of won out. My own dad left me as a baby. He went on to raise other kids afterward. And while it is my mom who suffers with the alcoholism and not him, a lot of John's half-assed reasoning sort of mirrors my own father's. 
> 
> Basically, guys, sometimes people suck for no good reason. Sometimes they get their shit together later, and sometimes they don't. And sometimes our questions never really get sufficiently answered.

  
  


Sam and John spend most of the day avoiding each other. A time or two, Sam hears him gagging and knocks on his door, asking if he’s okay from the other side of it. John never invites him in or even bothers to open the door, but he always answers in the affirmative, so Sam considers it a win.

By the time Sam has his laundry done, he’s also cleaned the kitchen and the living room. He finds a hamper of dirty clothes in the downstairs bathroom and then allows himself to go upstairs and check for one up there as well. There is a hamper in the bathroom filled with clothes and Sam grabs it and ignores the other two closed doors in the small hallway before seeing himself back down.

After he’s done John and Dean’s laundry, all of it folded neatly on the table, he’s at a loss for what to do. So he ends up on the couch, watching mindless reality TV. He takes a break long enough to ask John if he’s hungry and gets a definitive no. So he finds a frozen pizza in the freezer and helps himself before flopping back onto the couch again. And finally, sometime around six thirty, that’s where he is when he hears the deep rumble of the Impala. Sam is on his feet instantly, smoothing his shirts and sorting out his hair so that when Dean steps into the room, he looks somewhat presentable.

It feels like forever that Dean stands across from him, hands in the pockets of his faded, ripped jeans. Sam has to take a breath when he starts to feel like he might pass out, and the sound of him pulling air into his lungs is loud in the quiet surrounding them. 

He knows he should probably say something. But he doesn’t know what. And he’s always had a habit of saying the wrong thing when he forces something out in awkward situations. And this is, by far, the most awkward of awkward moments. So he just waits for Dean to fill the air between them with something other than nervous sighs.

“I’m sending him to a rehab,” is what Dean settles on when he decides to open his mouth. And okay. He’s either doing some serious repressing or he’s just not ready to talk about it. That’s fine. That elephant can just find a corner to park its intrusive ass in because as long as Dean is talking to him, Sam’s not going to complain. And he certainly isn’t going to push an issue that will probably make Dean _stop_ talking to him.

“I think that’s probably best,” Sam agrees, shoving his own hands in his pockets to quell the urge to hold his arms open and invite Dean in for a hug.

“Yeah. That’s where I went today. There’s one a few hours from here. And I know he’s probably through the worst of the physical aspect right now, but he needs therapy, you know? They need to help him get to the root of his problems. Whatever it is that keeps driving him back to the bottle. And if he does have any serious physical issues, because those could still crop up again or even worse, there’ll be doctors and nurses to handle it.” Dean shrugs his shoulders like the decision is already made, but he’s still looking at Sam expectantly.

“That sounds better for him and for you,” Sam offers and Dean nods.

“I thought so too. I just wanted to run it by you first. I mean, he’s…” Dean swallows and averts his eyes, suddenly finding the clock over the television very interesting, “He’s your dad too, so I wanted to make sure you’re okay with it or that you at least know I’m doing it for his own good.”

“Dean. I wouldn’t ever question your motives or any decision you make for him. Even if it was completely selfish, that would be okay. You’ve done so much for him. Above and beyond the call of duty. And it’s okay to look out for yourself.”

Dean huffs and shakes his head, turning back to look at Sam, his gaze locked somewhere around Sam’ left bicep, “I’m not sure I know how to do that, look out for myself.”

“Yeah, well, you got me to look out for you now. As long as you’ll let me anyway.” Sam knows it’s bold and he maybe shouldn’t be saying things like that just yet, if ever. But Dean has to know that Sam has not even the slightest intention of letting this go. Not unless Dean demands it of him.

Dean takes several deep breaths and then meets Sam’s eyes again. “That’s… um. That’s another thing.” He stops there and doesn’t seem inclined to continue. And god if the pain in his eyes doesn’t scare the fuck out of Sam. 

“What, Dean? Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

“I want you to leave. I talked to Ash on the way back and he got the part ordered and put a rush on it. He might be able to have you ready to go by tomorrow. But I’d like you to stay until at least tomorrow afternoon if you can. I mean, I have to take dad to the center tomorrow and I want you to be there if it’s not too much trouble. But after… and I’m sure I can get you a refund on any days you’ve paid after that. If you have.”

Sam feels like the floor is dropping out from under him and he pulls his hands out from his pockets to reach back and feel for the couch. When he sits, he stays right on the edge, back straight and heart breaking in his chest.

“So that’s…” Sam shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to convince himself not to cry. Or not in front of Dean anyway. He doesn’t want Dean to think he’s trying to be manipulative. “That’s it then? There’s no hope of… _anything_?”

Dean steps over and Sam thinks he intends to sit on the chair, but he plants himself right beside Sam. And when he reaches out to rest one of his smaller hands over Sam’s, he’s trembling.

“No. That’s not it at all. I’m angry, Sammy. And I’m… my feelings are hurt, you know? So I just need some time, right? Because I have to make that shift from potential lover to brother and that’s not going to be easy anyway. It’ll be fucking impossible with you right here looking so… and being… like you are.”

“Who said anything has to shift?” Sam asks quietly, turning to look hopefully at Dean through the hair partially covering his face.

“Sam…” His name has never sounded so sad. Not even when his mom said it the last time. And Sam bites his lip and blinks several times, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“It doesn’t.” He knows he sounds like a fucking kid. Someone living just south of reality. But he’s got to put this out there, make sure Dean knows where he stands. “Nothing has to change. I don’t _want_ it to change. No one has to know.”

“Dad knows,” Dean says, almost as if that’s the only barrier. And Sam can work with that.

“So? He’ll keep his mouth shut. He fucking owes it to us, Dean. He just left me. And then, all these years and he never told you about me. He won’t say anything.” Sam is sure of it. If it means keeping Dean by his side or even just not having to deal with Dean’s wrath, John will do whatever they want.

Dean just shakes his head and pats Sam’s hand before standing back up. “Give it some time, Sam. Okay? Go back home and just… we’ll talk on the phone and text. Maybe even Skype or something. In a few months things will change. You’ll feel differently.”

“No I won’t.”

“Look, this has been intense for both of us since the beginning. And I think it has something to do with the brother thing. Somehow that got all screwed up for you and maybe I was playing into that without knowing it? I don’t know. But we can’t, Sam. _I_ can’t.”

Sam can only nod though he doesn’t agree at all. But it hurts too much to hear Dean deny everything, to write these last few days off as some kind of fluke. So, for now, he’ll give Dean what he thinks he needs. He’ll stay and help get John settled in and then he’ll go home. And he’ll call or text Dean every fucking day. Whenever Dean is finally ready to admit that they have something special, that it’s not just all in Sam’s head, he’ll be ready and willing to explore it. He can wait. He can be so fucking patient and understanding.

“Thank you,” Dean says, obviously relieved, and then, “Do you want to go with me to tell him? Fair warning, he’s going to be pissed as hell.”

“Do you think it’ll be better or worse with me there?” Sam asks, pushing his anxiety aside for now. If this is what Dean wants from him right now, brotherly support, Sam will offer it. He’ll just have to prove to Dean that he can be both a brother and a lover. And if that’s a little taboo, so fucking what.

“I don’t think it’ll really matter. You’ll give him someone else to yell at. But I don’t know if that means I’ll only get half his ire or if he’ll just work up twice as much rage.”

“I’ll go in with you,” Sam decides, standing and motioning toward the closed door of John’s room indicating that Dean should go first.

*~*~*

As it turns out, there’s no yelling whatsoever. Dean is floored when he walks into John’s room, announces that he needs to pack to go to a rehabilitation center the next day and only gets a curt nod for his efforts. But that’s when it hits him that John is dead serious about cleaning up and drying out. And his world spins for several seconds at the knowledge that he’s actually doing this. That he’s dedicated like he never has been before.

The thing is, Dean isn’t an idiot. Of course Sam is the reason for John’s sudden desire to be sober. And maybe Jo was right that it was originally a ploy to keep Sam and Dean apart – though obviously for reasons Jo didn’t know – but Dean thinks it’s something else too. Either he’s embarrassed to have Sam know about his problems, or he’s trying to, in a roundabout way, make up for the way he fucked Sam over.

Dean knows that he should probably be even angrier about that. It should probably piss him off that John could never seem to do better for him but he’s trying for Sam. But it doesn’t. It sort of feels right. Like maybe Sam somehow holds a mirror up to John in a way Dean’s never been able to do. Like they’ve been missing him all along. Maybe he’s just what they’ve always needed to balance John out. 

It could also be that Dean has other, bigger, more pressing things to be mad about as well. Because, incest is definitely worse. Add in the fact that John _knew_ and didn’t say a goddamn word? And then, for good measure, top that fucked up sundae with how John has effectively kept Sam from him all these years? Oh yeah. Bigger things to be angry over.

He sort of meant to do that alone, hash it all out with John when Sam isn’t around. But, as he’s helping Sam toss his, _their_ , dad’s clothes into a small suitcase, he thinks it might be best to do it with Sam present. Hell, Sam is a victim in this too. Perhaps not quite to the extent Dean himself is, but a victim nonetheless. Sam deserves answers just as much as, if not more than, Dean when it comes to why John left and why he’s kept it a secret this whole time.

“You know,” Dean starts, dropping the shirt he’s folding and turning to face John, who’s hovering at his open closet door with a few pairs of jeans in hand, “We can just pretend everything is fine. That’s awesome. And tomorrow, that’s exactly what I want to do. But right now, I want answers. And I know Sam does too, even if he won’t admit it.”

“Dean-” John says, resigned, as he shakes his head, trying to warn Dean that the subject is best just dropped. But Dean doesn’t want to drop it. He feels like John robbed all of them of the happy life they could have had. Dean could have had a great mom – and there’s no doubt in his mind that Mary would have been a fantastic mother to him, Sam is proof of that. He and Sam could have had each other growing up. John could have had Mary and maybe a reason not to drink himself to death. Because Dean’s sure as fuck never been reason enough to stop him. But Mary could have been. Mary and Sam because just in a few days’ time Sam’s gotten him to stop drinking.

“No. You don’t get to avoid this. Sam needs to know. And I want to understand. So start talking,” Dean turns back to the suitcase he and Sam are still packing, knowing that John is more likely to actually talk if they carry on as normal. Sam seems to get that too, because he’s arranging socks at the bottom of the suitcase and purposely not glancing in John’s direction, though he does let his eyes flick up to meet Dean’s every few seconds. And every damn time they do, Dean has to clamp down on the desire to pull Sammy in for a hug. And he could. It wouldn’t even be weird because they’re brothers. Right? Except there’s still nothing very brotherly about the way he’s looking at Sam, the way he feels about him.

And that’s exactly why Sam has to leave. If they get some distance between them, that’ll give Dean the chance to breathe. He’ll be able to start separating all his mixed up feelings. And maybe it’ll help him stop wanting to nibble on Sam’s lips or slide a hand up his shirt. Or, fuck, feel Sam over him, naked and sweating and moaning so pretty.

“There’s not much to tell, Dean,” John finally says, and his voice is like cold water being dumped over Dean’s head. He breaks eye contact with Sam, whose face is just as red as Dean’s feels. Yeah. If they don’t get away from each other, there’s no telling where they’ll end up. Well… Dean knows where they’ll end up physically. There’s no question there. Because he doesn’t think he’d be able to resist even though he knows Sam is his brother. But he’s also worried about their future. He really does want to have Sam in his life. But it can’t be like _that_. No matter how much Sam insists it doesn’t matter or how much he, himself, desperately wants it.

“Tell it anyway,” Sam answers, once again pulling Dean out of his thoughts. Dean sends out a silent thank you and forces himself to look anywhere but at Sam. At least while John is talking. Because this is important.

“I was an asshole. Back then, I was an angry drunk. I was young and stupid. I already had one kid I had to take care of and I was scared shitless over that. When she told me she was pregnant, I panicked. We fought for a couple of weeks over what to do about it-”

“About _him_ ,” Dean corrects. “What to do about _Sam_.” Dean looks up briefly, expecting to see outrage on Sam’s face at being reduced to an ‘it,’ but there’s none there. He just shrugs at Dean and reaches for the last pair of socks lying on the bed.

“About Sam,” John concedes and Dean feels better about it even if Sam still seems not to care. “Dean, look, if you expect me to apologize for not being ready to take on another kid, that’s not going to happen. That happy little life you’re imagining in your head? That never would have happened. I did the best I was capable of at the time by Sam. And I did the only thing I could with you. I brought you here where John and Ellen could help keep an eye on you.”

John stops then as he deposits the jeans he’s been holding on the bed next to where Dean is standing. When he speaks again, it’s with one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t know why Mary never told Sam about you. I can’t answer that. But I didn’t tell you because I was being selfish. I can’t even claim it was for your own good. I was just trying to keep you here. I… needed you to help take care of me. I shouldn’t have lied to you back then and I shouldn’t have kept lying to you when Sam showed up. I’m sorry. I fucked up. And I wish I could say I’ll never do it again, that this time I’m finished drinking for good, but I can’t. I’m going to try though. If that means anything at all.”

“It does.”

Dean’s head jerks up at Sam’s words, and he’s reeling at the look on Sam’s face. To this point, just from the few times he’s seen John and Sam around each other, even before he knew why, he’s felt this undercurrent of anger rippling just under the surface of their every interaction. And it’s probably still there. In fact, Dean is sure it is, because when Sam looks from him to John, his jaw tightens. But Sam seems willing and even eager to take John at his word right now. That he’s trying. That he’s sorry for keeping them apart. So Dean just nods his agreement.

“Yeah. It’s… um… it’s better than nothing.” Dean offers with a sigh, stuffing the last few articles of clothing into the suitcase. “Get anything you need out of the bathroom. Soap, razor, shaving cream, and shampoo. You might want to wait until in the morning to pack your toothbrush though. I guess just leave out anything you might need before we leave.”

John huffs and stalks out of the room, muttering, “I _have_ packed a suitcase before.”

“Hey,” Dean starts softly, reaching out to lightly grip Sam’s wrist. Sam pulls his attention away from straightening up the clothes Dean’s just shoved in messily, and smiles. “Thanks. For helping and for cutting him some slack. I know it couldn’t have been easy to come all this way to find him like… _this_. And I get why you’re angry with him. But I really appreciate this.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head, twisting his arm and twining their fingers together before Dean realizes what’s happening. But still, despite knowing that he should, Dean doesn’t pull away. “I didn’t come here for him. I came for you. I stayed because of you. And all this,” Sam waves his free hand around, “is for you too. You never should have had to do this alone. And I’m sorry.”

“’S not your fault,” Dean replies with a shrug, voice dropping as he steps closer. His eyes are drawn to Sam’s mouth as he remembers how soft it is, how talented Sam is with his tongue. And god but he still wants with a ferocity that terrifies him. Which is why Sam needs to go home. Dean needs time to adjust. And forgive. But mostly he needs to get some distance between them so he can stop thinking about fucking his goddamn brother.

John clearing his throat somewhere behind him has Dean jumping back, dropping Sam’s hand like it’s on fire. But Sam? He doesn’t look embarrassed at all at being caught just a few breaths away from making out with his fucking brother in their dad’s bedroom. Yeah. Sam isn’t going to be any help ignoring these urges. So he has to go. For now at least.

“Here,” John says, tossing a small, zippered bag on the bed with his other things, “that’s everything from the bathroom except the shit I need tomorrow.”

Dean tucks the bag in a corner at the bottom and then moves the whole case to the floor, slotting it against the wall beside John’s dresser. They can get it fastened and loaded before they leave in the morning.

Before he takes Sam back to the motel, Dean fixes dinner for the three of them – just some sandwiches and chips – and they all sit down to eat together. It’s awkward as fuck. John keeps eyeing the two of them like he expects them to start making out over their plates. But, strangely enough, there’s more resigned sadness in his gaze than outright disgust. It’s almost like he blames himself for this mess.

He should too, Dean thinks. Because this _is_ more his fault than theirs. John never should have kept Sam from Dean. Or, at the very, very least, he should have said something the second he knew that Sam was in town. So yeah. Dean’s still fucking pissed at him. But right now he has something to focus on, getting John the help he needs. And then, once he’s better, they can hash this all out.

After he’s cleared the table and gotten his dad settled on the couch, he loads Sam and his clean laundry into his baby and gives him a ride back into town. They’re mostly silent on the way, with Sam attempting to start a conversation a few times and Dean just grunting in answer. By the time Dean guides the car into the space in front of Sam’s room, they’re both quietly staring out the windshield.

When Sam draws in a deep breath, like he’s getting ready to start another rant about how nothing has to change and they can still do this, Dean nips it before he can even get going. “Look, I am really very thankful for everything you’re doing right now. And I am so glad you’re going to be here to go with us tomorrow. But can we not talk about this? Not tonight. I know where you stand, Sam. I know what you want. But I can’t change how I feel about that.”

“You want it too. I saw it all over your face earlier. And it’s okay. We can-”

“No.”

Sam sighs and turns to stare at the flashing vacancy sign lighting up the far end of the parking lot before he says, “Okay. Whatever you want. It’s all on you. You just let me know what you want or need from me.”

With that, Sam opens the door and climbs out of the car. Dean thinks it would probably be polite to get out and help him get his bags to the door, but he’s scared he’ll lose his resolve if he has to be too close to Sam right now. So instead he just rolls down his window and calls out, “See you around eight in the morning,” to which Sam nods as he keys open the door to his room.

And then, before he throws the car into reverse, he adds, “Goodnight, Sammy.” He gets a “goodnight” in reply and then he’s gone, backing out and putting the motel and the temptation behind him as quickly as he can.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I'm popping in with a bonus update because I'm a little ahead of my writing schedule thanks to a baby who didn't sleep for a few nights in a row. So consider this a late Christmas gift (if you celebrate Christmas, if not just count it as a 'you're awesome' gift) and the regular update will come on Tuesday like always!
> 
> Someone was asking about Sam and Dean's biological relationship here, and so let me clear that up, and I'm sorry for any confusion: Sam and Dean are half brothers. John and Mary are Sam's parents whereas Dean has a different mom who died when he was a baby. The only reason for this is that it seemed easier to explain the fact that they didn't grow up together that way. That's all.
> 
> There will be a small explanation for Sam's dreams in the form of an epilogue. It's not anything super huge. It was just an idea I had for this that ended up playing a much smaller role than I originally planned.
> 
> As always, thanks to all of you who are reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. You all make it worth it and I hope you enjoy!

  
  


The next day goes more smoothly than Sam even could have imagined. Dean picks him up at about eight thirty with John sitting grumpily in the passenger seat. Sam climbs in the back with not even one complaint, despite the way he almost has to fold in half to fit.

They grab breakfast at a McDonald’s in a neighboring town and then they jump on I70 heading west. It feels so familiar, right down to his own growing frustration at the classic rock blaring through the speakers. But he doesn’t complain. Mainly because Dean seems at peace behind the wheel of his car, mouthing along to the words. And sometimes, if Sam strains really hard, he can hear when Dean slips up and sings a few words out loud. So yeah. That probably also has something to do with his unwillingness to bitch.

For his part, Sam spends most of the entire three hour drive staring at the back of Dean’s head and then, on the few occasions that Dean glances up, Sam meets his gaze in the mirror. He knows the looks he’s sending Dean are not necessarily brotherly, but fuck if he can help it. He figures his cards are already on the table, there’s no sense in hiding his desires. And the most interesting part is the way Dean flushes bright pink every time his eyes lock on Sam’s. 

He wants it too. And yeah, so Dean’s pretty much already admitted he still finds Sam attractive, but every blush as he averts his gaze just helps drive the point home that he’s still thinking about Sam in ways that don’t have anything to do with their siblinghood. That’s good.

But then there’s John. And he’s really the wildcard in all this. Because before Dean knew the truth he seemed hellbent on keeping them apart. Even going as far as to make himself very, very sick. Because Sam doesn’t buy that line John tried to feed him that he started this for Sam. But now that Dean knows, now that it’s all out there, John hasn’t shown much interest at all in what’s going on between them. In fact, for the entire drive, while Sam and Dean are playing metaphorical footsie with their eyes, John stares solemnly out the drivers’ side window. 

He doesn’t even comment when Sam leans over the bench seat a couple hours into the drive to find out exactly where they’re going. He does look over just long enough that he has to know that Sam is much closer than the conversation warrants, mouth so close his lips are almost brushing the shell of Dean’s ear. And Sam’s pretty sure he even sees the slight shiver of Dean’s body when Sam speaks, breath breezing over Dean’s neck. But he just turns and goes right back to watching the scenery fly by.

“How much longer?” Sam asks, head tilted as close to Dean as he dares.

“Um,” Dean looks at his watch and then the next mile marker and shrugs, “about an hour? Give or take. We’ve made good time so far.”

Sam nods and smiles when Dean settles back in his seat. Whether or not he realizes that he’s finally relaxing for the first time all morning or that doing so has brought him closer to Sam, Sam doesn’t know. But he enjoys the closeness for several minutes anyway.

“Have you heard anything about my car today? I’m trying to decide if I’m going to head out tonight or tomorrow morning.”

Sam doesn’t miss the way Dean’s shoulders slump or how he swallows a time or two before replying, “I think tomorrow morning would be better. That way you get a good nights’ rest first. And, I don’t know, maybe we can shoot some pool or something again?”

Grinning what he knows is a slightly flirtatious smile, but totally unable to help himself, Sam murmurs, “Yeah?” And god. He knows how hopeful he sounds and he also knows John is hearing this and understanding exactly what Sam’s thinking. But fuck it. Fuck it because Dean’s cheeks are pink again and his breathing is just a little uneven. And Sam is certainly he’s biting back a smile.

“Maybe,” is Dean’s noncommittal reply. But there’s a twinkle in his eye and Sam nibbles at his own lip so that he doesn’t lean closer and nibble on Dean’s ear. He’s sure that would not be very welcome at the moment. And he doesn’t want to risk doing anything that might make Dean truly uncomfortable. Or angry.

Sam isn’t sure how long they’re frozen like that, Dean driving by reflex while Sam breathes steady and hot over his pebbled skin. But Sam revels in every shuddery breath and his smile grows as Dean’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He only pulls back when John clears his throat. And only then because Dean shifts in embarrassment at the sound.

But Sam can be good. Dean will learn. Hell, if Dean wants to do this without anyone knowing, if he wants to keep it from John, Sam can even do that. He’s willing to agree to _anything_ that gets him Dean. Even if it might be annoying or even painful to keep it a secret.

Dean turns up the radio again and Sam flops back against the seat. But now he’s turned sideways just far enough that he can stare at Dean’s profile and enjoy the bob of Dean’s Adam’s apple every time he swallows, or the drag of his tongue when it sweeps over his bottom lip. And if he also has a view into the side mirror and he sometimes catches John looking at him oddly, whatever. Yeah, he extended an olive branch yesterday afternoon and even defended John a little to Dean. But that doesn’t mean his loyalties have changed or that he’s willing to give Dean up. Whatever happens with Sam and Dean, however they decide to continue or develop their relationship is none of John’s concern. He’ll just have to deal with whatever they decide. And all the slightly disapproving or quizzical looks in the world won’t make Sam change his mind about what he wants.

~*~*~

Dean is on edge for most of the ride. Having his brother and almost lover in the backseat while their dad sits beside him makes him anxious. But, even though he’s slightly uncomfortable with the situation, he’s glad Sam agreed to come along.

He keeps feeling like he’s abandoning his dad even though he knows he’s making the best decision for both of them. Dean is not equipped to help John through this in a way that will, hopefully, allow him to stay sober. And, the truth is, they’ve been very lucky so far. With John’s alcoholism as bad as it is, he could need medical attention at any point. And at the rehab center, they’ll be nurses available around the clock.

But he can’t help the little nagging part of his brain that keeps, not so helpfully, reminding him that he’s pissed at John right now, even if he’s hiding it well. And maybe that’s really the driving motivation here? Maybe he’s talked himself into this so easily because he’s angry. He certainly let his anger and his embarrassment lead the way here yesterday to check the place out. He also can’t pretend he wasn’t grinding his teeth when he filled out the paperwork, just hoping that he could get John to agree.

It’s the right thing to do though, and he knows it. So whatever caused him to realize it, it doesn’t matter. And Sam’s presence behind him, one person who is decidedly on his side unconditionally – and Dean refuses to think on just _why_ that is – helps sooth his nerves as they pull into the parking lot.

“Big,” John grunts from the passenger seat, leaning against the window to check the place out. And it is rather impressive. It’s a large series of buildings spread out on several acres, and from this vantage point, they look welcoming and homey. Aside from the few signs directing visitors and new patients, it almost looks like an apartment complex. Dean knows that for the first week or so John will be staying in the main building that has a hospital style set up, which he’ll probably protest. But after that, if he does well, he’ll be assigned an apartment for the duration of his stay. And that’s really what sold Dean on this particular place, the fact that they aim to help their patients regain a feel of independence as soon as possible.

“Expensive,” is the next word out of John’s mouth and Dean is quick to derail that thought, even though he isn’t wrong. But the last thing they need is John finding a halfway plausible reason to tuck tail and run.

“Your insurance covers some of it and I transferred some money out of the savings and wrote a check yesterday for a good chunk of what we’ll have to pay out of pocket. The rest we can make payments on. But don’t worry about it. It’ll be worth it if you can get the help you need.”

“I can help out some too,” Sam pipes in from the backseat but the words have hardly left the warmth of his mouth before both John and Dean are shaking their heads.

“You have college to worry about, Sammy. Dad and I can handle this,” Dean says, expecting that to put an end to the conversation.

“No, really, it’s no big deal. I have some money put back from mom’s life insurance. I was trying not to tap into it unless it was an emergency, but this seems pretty emergent, right? So if I pitch in too you wouldn’t have to work so hard,” Sam shrugs and swings his door open, stepping out into the warm midmorning air.

“Don’t let him do that,” John says sternly, “Once I’m out of here I should be fit to actually work again too. It’s not all going to fall on you, Dean.”

“I know that,” Dean replies, even though he really doesn’t. It’s always all fallen on Dean. But that’s okay. He has broad shoulders. And he doesn’t plan on letting Sam help no matter what. Dean knows Stanford can’t be cheap and even if, for some reason, Sam doesn’t need the money for school, cost of living in California is unreal.

“Good. I really don’t want the guilt of knowing that Mary is paying for this in any way. Not after everything. Not after I left her and Sam and just…” John shakes his head but doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead he sighs and pushes his own door open, rising out of the car to stand next to Sam.

Dean doesn’t give Sam a chance to reignite the discussion about paying for John’s stay here. He starts listing all the amenities as he climbs out of the car. It’s a rather long list, actually. He tells them about the indoor pool and hot tub as they’re digging John’s suitcase and small duffle out of the trunk. And by the time they get to the front desk, Dean’s ending his list by bragging about the fact that the facility actually employs honest to god chefs.

It takes them all of an hour to get John signed in and set up in his small, private room. When he moves to his apartment he’ll probably have to share. But until they’re certain enough that he’s stable enough to leave the main building, he’ll have a room all to himself. And Dean’s fidgeting with curtains and blinds when the admitting nurse explains that lunch will be coming soon and leaves them to get him settled in. Which, it turns out, consists of John saying he’s fine and telling them they should hit the road.

“Are you sure? I mean, we could stay through lunch at least. Or even longer and walk around the grounds with you. I got the grand tour yesterday so I could show you around.” Dean gets the curtain wrangled into a position that keeps the sun from blinding them all and then turns to face his dad and brother.

“Dean, this isn’t my first day of kindergarten. I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts, really. Go.”

With a huff, Dean nods and takes a few steps toward the door where Sam is posted waiting for him. And then, on a whim, he turns back and slings his arm around John in a quick hug. And god, he doesn’t think he’s hugged his dad in years. But he feels guilty and unsure and part of him wants to grab John’s bags and usher him right back out to the car.

Except John isn’t having it. He squeezes Dean for several seconds and then pushes him away, hands wrapped halfway around Dean’s biceps and he holds him at arm’s length. “I’ll be fine,” he repeats, holding Dean’s gaze to drive the point home.

When Dean nods this time, he does it with more conviction and then he really does turn to leave, grabbing Sam by the wrist on the way. Sam just waves at John and follows along behind Dean, not making a single comment when it takes Dean several minutes (almost all the way back to the car) to let go of his arm.

Sam slots himself into the passenger seat and, to Dean’s relief, he says nothing as they pull out of the parking lot and get back on the road. In fact, Sam remains quiet until they’re several miles down the road and almost back to the interstate. And when he speaks it’s just a really mundane, “Can we grab some lunch before we go too far?”

Dean agrees and they grab a burger at a mom and pop joint just before the on ramp. Or Dean has a burger and Sam eats some rabbit food shit. But he seems just as pleased with it as always so Dean steals a bite the first chance he gets. And really, it’s not so bad. Could use some more ranch though. But mostly he thinks the grin Sam gives him when he crunches into the lettuce with his mouth still hanging open like he hasn’t exactly decided to commit to the bite yet is the best part. His antics seem to lighten the mood at any rate and Sam relaxes so much that he lets his foot brush against Dean’s leg under the table.

At first Dean thinks it’s either an accident or just the fact that Sam’s legs are so damned long. But when he does it again, looking up at Dean from under the hair hanging in his eyes, Dean’s breath catches in his throat. Because holy fuck that’s the most heated look anyone has _ever_ given him. And the thing is, he’s still smarting from Sam’s deception. He’s still not sure Sam’s been completely honest about his intentions. And he’s trying so fucking hard to get over this attraction. But no matter how many times he reminds himself that Sam is his brother, he still keeps finding himself looking at and responding to Sam in ways he shouldn’t.

And as much as he feels like he should keep some distance between them, both figuratively and literally, he just really doesn’t want to. He’s fighting against his every instinct. Because what he should do is at odds with what he wants to do. So he freezes for several seconds every time Sam’s foot brushes teasingly along his calf. But he doesn’t ask Sam to stop and he feels how red his face is because of the contact. 

He knows damn well he’s very guilty of sending mixed signals at the moment. He keeps telling Sam he wants some space. But then he gravitates toward him at every possible opportunity. He’s saying they can’t do this, that they have to try to be the brothers they actually are. But he knows he keeps looking at Sam with lust in his eyes. It’s so fucked up.

Finished with his burger and no longer able to avoid looking across the table, Dean lifts his head and locks onto Sam’s eyes. And sighs instantly. They’re really too pretty. And Sam is too gorgeous. And this need he feels is so fucking overwhelming.

Apropos of nothing, Dean plants his elbows on the table and leans closer to his brother. Before he can change his mind, before he has a chance to make himself understand how fucking stupid this is, he says, “One night. We get it out of our systems. And in the morning you go back to California. Then we learn how to be brothers and leave this behind.”

Sam shakes his head and opens his mouth to protest, but Dean doesn’t let him get the first syllable out, “Take it or leave it, Sammy. I’m not negotiating. If you don’t want to spend the night with me, that’s fine. But this is the only offer on the table and the terms are rock solid.”

With that, Dean stands and picks up the check, making his way over to the cash register to pay. When he gets back to the table, Sam is dropping a tip on the cracked surface. And when they walk out, Sam’s hand takes up residence at the small of Dean’s back, guiding him back to the car. 

But instead of letting Dean get in or even opening the door for him, Sam turns him and blocks him in against the warm metal of the driver’s door. He towers over Dean’s smaller frame, planting his hands on the hood of the car to box Dean in. Dean feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest when Sam leans down and in to butt his forehead softly against Dean’s temple.

Their lips are so close Dean can feel every humid breath flow out over his mouth. God. He wants so badly to just tilt his head and take, even right out here in the open and not really sure of how that might be received by anyone observing them right now. But he doesn’t. He swallows and tentatively brings his hands up to hang off Sam’s hips, thumbs rubbing back and forth at his waistband, skin just barely touching.

“Do you really think…” Sam starts and then stops, breathes in deeply as if he’s scenting Dean and then tries again, “You think we can do this and it’s going to make us want each other _less_?”

Dean laughs then, hollow and raw and he shakes his head minutely, eyes closing as his hands slide up and grip more firmly at Sam’s waist, pulling him in a little closer. “No. It’s not going to help at all. But I can’t now know what it’s like. I don’t think I can move on if… and maybe it’ll be horrible. Maybe we’ll find out we’re not compatible at all?”

Then it’s Sam’s turn to laugh and Dean can almost feel his face pull into a grin as he nuzzles closer, letting their noses brush as his lips hover just out of reach. “Did the other morning feel horrible to you? Because it felt pretty fucking fantastic to me.”

“God, it was amazing,” Dean admits in a low whisper, turning into Sam enough so that their lips finally drag together.

“Yeah,” is all Sam says before one of his hands comes down to cup Dean’s jaw. And when Sam kisses him it’s with such tenderness, so goddamn sweet. Dean shivers and whimpers softly. Their tongues meet briefly at Dean’s insistence, but Sam keeps it light and gentle.

When Sam pulls back, his eyes are dilated despite the bright sunshine and he’s panting slightly. He licks at his own lips and runs a thumb over Dean’s, groaning when Dean nips at it. His eyes almost feel glued to Sam’s and he’s holding his breath. Because he’s pretty sure Sam’s going to say yes, but it could honestly go either way. At Sam’s tiny nod, agreement to the terms Dean’s set, Dean exhales fully and smiles. It feels brittle and sad even though he’s also so fucking overjoyed.

“Good,” Dean declares, louder than he means to, but it breaks the spell they’re under, and Sam steps back. Which is exactly what needs to happen for the moment.

“Under one condition.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “You don’t listen very well, do you? No negotiation.”

“It’s an easy condition, I promise.”

Dean cocks his head and waits, prepared to shoot down whatever Sam throws at him. But he isn’t prepared to suddenly have Sam’s hand in his, fingers twined together. He squeezes once and then drops Dean’s hand and takes another step back, a little closer to rounding the front of the car.

“I want the whole experience. I don’t just want to fuck. I want to be able to kiss you and touch you all night. Until I leave in the morning, no guilt. No pulling away. It’s just us enjoying each other. If this is going to be all I get, I want it all.”

Easy condition. Yeah. It’ll be too goddamn easy and that’s the fucking problem. But it’s a problem tomorrow’s Dean has to worry about because today’s Dean just nods his assent and turns to climb into the car.

When Sam gets in the other side, he shifts close enough that one of his long, gargantuan arms can easily reach across the seat and come to rest over the top of Dean’s thigh, fingertips resting along Dean’s inseam. Dean’s heart jolts and his stomach flips and, against his better judgment, he turns and tangles his hand in Sam’s long hair and pulls him into one more quick kiss before he turns the engine over and concentrates on getting them back home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we go. We're moving into some steaminess at the end of this chapter and into the next two. If you have a strong preference for top or bottom, you might find yourself needing to skim over some because there will be switching. I'll try to remember to warn at the beginning of the next three chapters for what we're getting into. For this one it's just a blowjob. Fairly tame stuff.
> 
> Also, I'm currently working on chapter seventeen and I'm thinking we'll probably finish up around twenty or so. I'm not sure if that will include the epilogue or not, but that's where I'm figuring it. Though nothing is set in stone at this point. And if things continue as they have been, I might be able to speed up the posting schedule a bit. We'll see. Anyway, read, enjoy (I hope), and, as always, thank you so much for your support!

  
  


Sam spends the entire drive back with his hand on Dean in some way. On his thigh, on his knee, fingers scratching through his short hair, and once, briefly, holding his hand. But the best part is that they talk. And when Dean tells him about his childhood he says things like ‘our dad’ and Sam gets a dirty little thrill. But he doesn’t say anything because he’s not stupid. Dean is still wrapping his head around this; he hasn’t yet hit the point (and probably won’t) where the fact that they’re brothers is extremely fucking hot.

By the time they’re back in town, Sam has eat up the distance between them with the bulk of his body and he’s sitting in the middle of the bench seat, close enough to lean over and kiss the side of Dean’s head when he brings the car to a stop in the little grocery store parking lot. So he does. And, much to Sam’s surprise, Dean smiles and turns his head enough to lay a soft kiss on the underside of Sam’s chin.

And, of course, Sam can’t keep from tilting his face down enough to bring their lips gently together. Then, before Sam really even realizes it, they’re making out in the front seat of the car in broad daylight. The feeling that elicits in Sam is pure joy, because Dean is holding nothing back. He has one hand on Sam’s waist under his t-shirt and the other is carding through Sam’s hair as he presses him back and almost down into the seat before he pulls away panting.

“Shit,” Dean swears, wiping at his mouth as Sam straightens back up, grinning from ear to ear. “I was going to grab a couple of steaks to cook for us. Boyfriend experience and all, right? But we might not make it that far.”

“Yeah we will,” Sam promises, reaching up to smooth his own and then Dean’s hair down. “You go in and get what you need and then pick me up at the motel afterward if I’m not back. I need to grab a change of clothes and my toothbrush.”

“I can drive you over,” Dean offers as Sam opens his door and gets out.

“It’ll be faster if we split up,” Sam shrugs. And he takes off toward the motel before Dean can argue. He looks back over his shoulder several times, making sure Dean gets out of the car and into the store before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoots a text to Charlie.

_Pretty sure I’m going to fuck my brother tonight._

Sam hits send before the thinks better of it. What if someone else picks up Charlie’s phone? Or what if she reads it in front of someone who happens to see?

_Omg. Please delete that right now._

His phone vibrates in his hand almost a minute later as he’s crossing the street.

_Already done. So he agreed to just...?_

_Kind of. It’s a one-time sort of arrangement he says. To get it out of our systems._ Sam sends back after a sigh of relief.

_Do you think that will do it for you?_

Sam snorts as he makes his way across the motel parking lot, tapping out a response.

_Not even close. But I’d rather have him once than not at all._

He gets another text as he’s pushing the door open to his room, but he ignores it long enough to throw everything into his duffle. He has to leave tomorrow anyway; he promised Dean. So he might as well just get all his stuff now and all he’ll have to do is turn his key in when he heads out in the morning. 

After a couple sweeps through to make sure he hasn’t left anything behind, he sits on the edge of the bed and unlocks his phone to read Charlie’s text.

_Just be careful._

Rolling his eyes, Sam types out his reply.

_I always am._

He just gets his phone locked and shoved into his pocket when it starts to ring. Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he digs it out and answers without even looking at the caller ID display. 

“I have condoms and lube. Safety first,” Sam says, even though he knows that’s not really what she meant with her text.

“With your _heart_ , Sam. This is so messy. You’ve been out of sorts since your mom died. And this is your brother. He’s probably all freaked out right now too. It’s just… a heavy situation.”

Sam sighs and steps out of the door, pulling it closed behind him. “I know, Charlie. God. I know, okay?’

“I’m just worried. I know how much you want this. And, normally I’d be all for just going for it. But this is… a unique situation and there’s so much potential for heartbreak on a couple different levels. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t think there’s any way around it,” Sam admits. Because he knows this is going to hurt either way. Even if, in the end, Dean decides he wants to be more than just Sam’s brother, there’s going to be some heartache getting there. Sam’s already dreading leaving in the morning, the pain of it sitting heavy in his gut. But he’s got all night to leave Dean with something to consider. And he plans to do just that. So for now he has to push his fear of the future away and focus on the present.

He tells Charlie as much and she relents. She wishes him luck and tells him to call her if he needs _anything_. He promises that he’ll see her in a couple days, not know yet what time he’ll get to leave tomorrow or if he’ll drive straight through on the way back. And by the time Dean comes out of the store, several bags in hand, Sam is waiting by the car, duffle at his feet.

Dean stops a few feet away, his eyes roaming up and down the length of Sam’s body. And, for a minute, Sam gets that same rush he did the very first time Dean looked at him. Just like this. Like Sam is a buffet and Dean is starving. The moment drags on, and finally, Sam tilts his head to the side and smiles, subtly spreading his legs in invitation for Dean to slot right into the space he’s providing.

A blush fans out over Dean’s cheeks and Sam knows it’s half want and half shame for wanting, but Sam will take it. He’s going to work with whatever Dean gives him right up until he gets in his car to leave.

“Get in the car, Sammy,” Dean says, but something in his voice tells Sam that if they were alone, maybe with the car parked at the shop or in Dean’s garage at home, he might not mind having Sam spread out over the hood. Naked.

Yeah. One night isn’t going to be nearly enough to burn Sam out of Dean’s system. And that’s good. So fucking good because Sam doesn’t think he could ever have enough of Dean. There’ll never be a point from now on that some part of him isn’t aching for Dean.

Wearing a smirk that he hopes tells Dean that he knows exactly how dirty his thoughts are at the moment, Sam picks up his duffle, throws it into the back seat and then climbs in. He watches Dean struggle for several moments, breathing slow and deep, to get himself under control. Shortly, he loads his bags into the car and slides in beside Sam.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Sam studies Dean’s profile while his brother stares out over the steering wheel, still breathing purposely slow and deep.

“Do what?”

“That thing you’ve been doing since you found out. That thing where you take a step back, either literally or figuratively, to get yourself under control. Remember? Until tomorrow morning, no guilt.”

The grin that grows on Dean’s face at Sam’s words can only be described as devilish. And when he turns to meet Sam’s eyes, he’s biting his bottom lip in a way that makes Sam jealous. Either of his lip or his teeth, he isn’t sure.

“You think that was guilt?” Dean actually laughs then and cranks the car, easily slipping her into drive as he pulls out of parking lot, still worrying his lip as he focuses on driving rather than Sam. “That was me trying not to fuck you right there in the parking lot.”

“Shit,” is Sam’s very articulate reply. And he has to take a few seconds to get _himself_ under control so that he doesn’t bend over to give his brother road head.

*~*~*

It’s totally guilt that Dean is trying to suppress. But Sam doesn’t need to know that. Well, guilt and a little bit, or a lot, of that urge to take Sammy as soon as he can. Or be taken by him. Dean’s still not sure where he stands on that front. Maybe both. Yeah. Definitely both. If they only get one night, they’d better take advantage of it.

And they do only get one night. Dean can’t imagine any more than that. Or maybe he can too easily imagine it and that’s the real problem. Either way. Doesn’t matter. Because Sam is his brother, his _little_ brother, and Dean can’t have him, not in any lasting way. It doesn’t matter how much he wants him or how much Sam assures him he wants it. It’s Dean’s responsibility as the older brother to put an end to this. And he should probably do that _before_ the fucking happens. But he’s pretty much resigned himself to the fact that it’s going to happen. Not that it’s too much of a hardship.

The way Dean figures it, he could send Sam packing right now without laying another hand on him. And for a while that might work. Hell, it would work perfectly right up until they see each other again. Then they might be alright, he guesses. But probably not. They’d probably be right back in each other’s orbit again, needing and wanting and just growing more and more frustrated because they can’t _have_.

But like this, they get a chance to experience each other. Hopefully that will help them move past this silly little crush – Ha! – and into more brotherly territory. As if fucking one’s brother solidifies a sibling relationship…

Okay. It’s not the most sound reasoning. But honestly Dean knows he’s trying to find logic that lets him get his hands on Sammy at least once. And this is it. He’s desperate, not fucking stupid.

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard,” Sam says from the passenger seat, his hand running down Dean’s arm to find his hand and tangle their fingers briefly together.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, all of his earlier bravado lost as they near his house. His empty house. Where he and Sam will be alone all night long. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Look,” Sam says with a sigh, obviously picking up on Dean’s nerves. And there’s no way Dean is going to half ass lie his way out of it this time. He’s sure he’s easily readable. “I know this has been sort of intense, like you said, from the beginning. And right now there’s a lot hanging over us. So let’s just say no pressure, okay? If we end up in bed all night, that’s fine. If we end up just making out on the couch or even just watching a movie, that’s okay too. No pressure. Really. I just… man, I just want to be with you without any lies between us.”

That seems reasonable enough, Dean supposes, and he agrees with a nod as he pulls into the driveway. But part of him knows, without a doubt, they’ll be doing more than just making out. Because as delicate as this situation is, and as unsure as Dean is of his ability to navigate it without destroying the both of them, his want is growing by the second. And he knows Sam wants just as badly, if not more. So for tonight he’s got to find a way to shelf all of his issues. Besides, he’s sure there’ll be more to sort through after this is over. Might as well get them all at once.

And once he really commits, things go surprisingly smoothly. They unload the car and Dean steals a quick kiss, leaving Sam grinning with his fingers brushing over his lips, before he starts unloading the bags from the store. Sam helps after the shock of the easy kiss wears off, and Dean sets about cooking them a couple of pan seared steaks with baked potatoes. And all the while, Sam is perched on a stool watching him, offering a hand when he needs it and asking the most ridiculous questions. Things like, what his favorite subject in school was and if he ever thought about going to college and who was his first kiss and how did he decide he’s more into guys.

It’s a mixture of questions. Things you’d ask a new or potential lover and some things you’d know about your siblings if you’d grown up with them. Sam seems to want it all, further driving home the point that he might not just want Dean in spite of the fact that they’re brother, but _because_ of it. At least to some extent. But Dean doesn’t know just how far that particular kink, if it even _is_ a kink, for Sam extends. And he’s not sure he wants to know. Not now anyway. Maybe not ever. So he just answers the questions Sam asks and throws the same ones back at him.

It’s over their dinner, which Sam has complimented over and over, even going as far as to suggest Dean should have gone to culinary school, that Sam admits he’s never done more than a little groping and grinding with guys until Dean. That causes Dean to stop, fork midway to his mouth, as he processes that information. Yeah, he’d considered the idea that he might be Sam’s first guy. But once he found out the truth, he’d just thought the hesitancy could be attributed to that rather than Sam being unsure about the guy aspect. And now, knowing what he does – that he’s Sam’s big brother – he’s a little wary of being the first.

He says as much, stuffing a bite into his mouth and then proceeding to shuffle his food around his plate rather than look at Sam. But Sam is quick to reassure him, reaching across the table and placing his larger hand over the top of Dean’s. His thumb traces back and forth over the ridges of Dean’s knuckles while he reasserts that yes, he really does want to do this. No, he’s not bothered at all by the fact that they’re brothers. And yes, he really did feel attracted to guys before he met Dean so this isn’t some weird attachment thing. But, he suddenly, almost too quietly to hear, admits that the brother aspect is kind of hot to him.

When Dean looks up then, sharply inhaling as he catches Sam’s eyes through the curtain of hair partially obscuring his face, Sam is blushing more brightly than Dean’s ever seen. And Dean has not one fucking clue what to say to that. Finding out for sure that what is a huge fucking roadblock for him, and would be for just about anyone else, gets Sam hot is… odd. Worrisome even. 

“So, what? This whole thing is _because_ we’re brothers?”

“No!” Sam is quick to cut him off, fingers tightening on Dean’s, “God no. It’s not like I came here to explore some deviant kink or anything. I didn’t know. And honestly, thinking about it under any other circumstances doesn’t do it for me. But you and me? I don’t know. It’s just… it feels really fucking right and I think that’s what makes it such a turn on for me.”

Dean can feel the confusion written all over his face when he stutters out, “So you want me to… I don’t know… you want to… when we…” And Dean’s not even sure he knows what he’s trying to suggest. Talking about sex is fine. That’s something he can do. But talking about kinky incest driven sex? That’s something completely out of his wheelhouse. Particularly when the fact that Sam is his brother is the huge fucking thorn in his side right now. He wants to _forget_ they’re related. Wishes with everything in him they weren’t. And here Sam is talking about it being hot? 

“I don’t want you to do anything. I wasn’t even going to tell you. I don’t even know why I did except that I want you to know that the brother thing isn’t an issue for me.”

Dean just nods, feeling a little more out of his depth. But Sam’s kind of kept him on his toes since day one, so it’s nothing out of the ordinary as of late. And honestly, as much as it baffles him, it’s still not enough to make him _not_ want Sam. He’s not sure if anything will be enough to quell his desire for him.

And by the time they’ve finished eating, the topic has been dropped. Which is just fine with Dean. First he’d like to have a chance to process the fact that he’s going to sleep with his brother before he tries to figure out why the hell it’s a thing for Sam.

Sam does the dishes and Dean dries and it’s all so damn domestic it makes Dean’s heart ache. Sam laughs at some stupid joke Dean makes and Dean feels the absence of Sam as his little brother all over his life up to this point. And it’s like a hole in his chest. But then Sam’s fingers brush along his wrist, and a smile spreads over his beautiful face, full of intent and Dean feels the loss of Sam as his lover like a distant, future ache and it’s just as bad. 

“Hey,” Sam says softly, drying his hands on a nearby towel before he turns slightly and reaches out to grasp Dean by his hips. And ooh boy, the way Dean’s body reacts to Sam pulling him in against him where he’s leaning on the counter is not even the least bit brotherly. “Could you try not to look so sad? Told you we can do whatever. Just pop in a movie and see what happens.”

But even as Sam is muttering the words, he’s doing it hunched over against Dean’s throat, lips dragging against stubble, breath fanning out hot and humid over Dean’s quivering skin. And his hands are drawing Dean in, aligning their hips where Sam is slid down with his legs spread slightly. And Dean fits perfectly there, just like they fit perfectly the other morning when they rubbed off against each other. Fuck but Dean wants that again. Right now.

“We both know what’s going to happen, Sammy,” Dean says around a breathy laugh, actively pushing everything that’s sitting heavy in his mind to the side for now. There’ll be time to worry about it later. Right now Sam is here and he’s just as hard as Dean is, and, for whatever reason, they both want this. Whether they should or not is a conundrum for another day.

Dean feels Sam’s lips twitch against his chin and he hears the smile when Sam agrees, “Yeah. But I’m trying to be not so pushy. You said I need to think about more than just myself and what I want. So I’m trying to let you lead here, Dean.”

Finally, Dean lifts his arms and wraps one around Sam’s trim waist while the other ventures higher, his hand tilting Sam’s head up so their mouths brush together. “Right now,” Dean whispers over Sam’s lips, “I could really use a pushy little brother.”

Dean’s not even sure why he says it. It just comes out without any thought. But the way Sam reacts, a trembling whine just before he licks into Dean’s mouth and spins to pin him against the counter, is enough to make Dean think he could probably do it a few more times. And, if he’s being perfectly honest with himself, it gives him a dirty little thrill too. He’s not as comfortable with it as Sam obviously is, but maybe he can adjust. Or give in for the night anyway.

“God Dean,” Sam rasps, his hands gripping the hem of Dean’s shirt and tugging upward. And Dean doesn’t even attempt to stop him. He just lifts his arms and lets Sam peel the offending material out of the way. “Fuck, I want…” But Dean has to fill in the blank there, because Sam doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, his mouth travels south as he palms at Dean’s ass, suddenly lifting him to place him on the counter. Dean remembers Sam talking about picking him up before and he starts to say something about it when Sam’s warm mouth finds a nipple. 

Sam’s teeth scrape over the sensitive flesh just as Dean opens his mouth and all that comes out is, “Oh, f-fuck. Yeah. Just like that, baby,” whatever quip he was about to spout about Sam picking him up long forgotten.

*~*~*

Sam is working on pure adrenaline, still spiking from Dean calling him ‘little brother’ and if he wanted Dean before, he wants him even more now. And he keeps thinking about how he’s nibbling on his big brother’s chest and how Dean is clinging to him and encouraging him with little whimpers and moans. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful trapped inside his jeans and, when his hand runs down Dean’s body he finds him in the same situation.

He really wants to get Dean spread out on a bed. Preferably Dean’s, but he can’t deny the way his pulse kicks up a notch at the thought of doing this on John’s bed. But that’s probably pushing Dean a little too far. So yeah. Dean’s bed. But it’s all the way upstairs and Dean’s so needy right now. And the thought that he’s never actually touched Dean’s dick flits through his head and it’s over. They can take their time later.

“Need you to stand up again, Dean. Can you?” Sam asks hurriedly as he reaches for Dean’s fly, popping the button and working the zipper down.

“Yeah,” Dean answers quickly, hushed and breathless as his hips squirm at the proximity of Sam’s hands.

Sam slides him off the counter at the same time he slips his jeans down to his thighs. And then it’s just Dean’s underwear keeping Sam away from his prize. And fuck but it’s perfect. Long and hard and the head is stretching up trying to poke out of the band of his underwear. Sam drops to his knees and cups it gently at first, massaging it through the material and watching it twitch in his hand. The wet spot at the head grows with every second Sam holds it, breathing on it through Dean’s underwear.

“Fuck, Sammy, _please_ ,” Dean whines hips churning again to seek out more friction, begging Sam with his words and his body to just do something.

Teasing can wait, Sam thinks, he has all night to tease. He lifts the band out, away from Dean’s body and then tugs the underwear down, mouth watering when the rigid length jerks and spurts out a drop of precome that smears on Dean’s lower belly. Surging up, Sam licks the mess away with a flat tongue right before he closes his lips over the head of Dean’s cock. It’s delicious. Salty and musky and Sam wants as much of it as he can get in his mouth.

He doesn’t even really think too much about it being his first time. He’s pretty sure he knows what to do. Jess has given him a few ‘friendly blowjobs’ and she’s a fanfuckingtastic teacher. And he’s enthusiastic enough that he figures that’ll make up for some lack in skill.

And Dean isn’t complaining. His hands are fluttering over the top of Sam’s head and he’s murmuring things like, “God, baby, so good. Your mouth, Sammy, fuck.” Sam just swallows him down as far as he can, wrapping his hand around the rest. He sucks and slurps and bobs on Dean’s dick, letting the hand cupping the base twist and rub at Dean’s balls, feeling how tight they already are. His other hand presses against his own dick, trying to relieve the throbbing ache that’s growing with every drop of precome that leaks out of Dean, every twist of his hair through Dean’s fingers, and every broken moan that falls out of Dean’s mouth.

It’s over so fucking fast. Sam twists his tongue around the head of Dean’s cock, dips into the slit on every upstroke, and ruts furiously against his own hand. And when he finally looks up and meets Dean’s eyes, Dean chokes on a warning that he’s going to come, and Sam just doubles his efforts, his own orgasm triggered by the first flood of Dean’s come over his tongue.

He’s still shuddering through the aftershocks when Dean slides down the counter and straddles his thighs, his hand trailing down to fall over the top of Sam’s, helping milk the last little shocks of pleasure from his cock and balls. All the while, Dean’s kissing him, chasing the taste of his own come around Sam’s mouth.

“So fucking pretty, baby boy,” Dean whispers, hot and dirty and Sam groans, wondering how the fuck he’s going to give this up tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's what's happening, guys:
> 
> I'm so close to finished writing this I can taste it. On top of that I have a few prompts I need to fill and an idea for a new multichapter fic (wincestiel). So, for now, I'm going to update twice a week. On Tuesday for sure and then again sometime at the end of the week. Once I have finished writing it completely, I'll update either daily or every other day. I'm hoping to be done sometime next week, though no promises because I might take a short break to fill a prompt or two. 
> 
> We're almost there (though I'm closer than you are, lol)!
> 
> Warnings for what lies below: Slight incest kink, anal fingering, and anal sex. Bottom!Dean for this chapter. There's also a bit of schmoopiness. Oops.

  
  


They actually do, to Dean’s surprise, end up watching a movie. But it’s one they’ve both seen and so they mostly spend a lot of the time making out and feeling each other up. The kitchen blowjob took some of the edge off for both of them though, so it’s languid and slow. And Dean knows it’s leading up to something more. Something they’ll probably need to make their way to bed for, but he’s not in any hurry.

He’s laid out over Sam’s larger body on the couch that’s not really big enough for one of them to stretch out on, much less both of them. But, just like they did on Ellen’s couch, they’re making it work. The movie is playing on in the background, flickering different colors and casting odd shadows, but Dean only has eyes for Sam. 

He has Sam’s shirt rucked up even with his armpits, and yeah, he guess he could take it off, figures Sam wouldn’t complain at all, but he kind of likes the picture Sam presents like this. There’s something about his clothes being open and exposing his chest, stomach, and underwear clad crotch, but not off all the way that really does something for Dean. And so he sets about working several dark purple hickeys across Sam’s chest, grinning when Sam’s hand flexes on his back or he gasps suddenly at the sucking pressure Dean is applying to his skin.

Sam’s being such a good sport too. He wriggles every now and then, especially when Dean slips a hand down to fondle the semi that’s slowly hardening with every squeeze of Dean’s hand. Oh, and when Dean tugs at a nipple or bites into his pectoral he squirms so prettily. But, generally, he’s just letting Dean explore and have his way with his body.

And what a glorious body it is. Dean knows that Sam is ripped, he’s felt it, even gotten a glimpse here and there, but fuck. Dean can’t fight the urge to sit up every so often and just survey and admire the muscles winding hard and tight across Sam’s torso. And whenever he does, he also lets his eyes wander lower to take in the magnificent cock that he’s still only seen through clothes. When Sam first notices him looking, he says Dean’s more than welcome to take him out but Dean declines. He likes the suspense. He does, however, have Sam reach down to frame the ever hardening bulge with his hands. And fuck if it doesn’t look huge even like that, with Sam’s massive hands for comparison and still not at full capacity. Dean can’t help but reach out and trace its shape with a fingertip. That earns him a full body shiver from Sam and he chuckles.

“You’re fucking killing me,” Sam says through gritted teeth, but there’s humor in his eyes and once Dean’s hand leaves him he relaxes and pulls Dean down for a long, soft kiss. His tongue is slick and dexterous as it weaves its way around Dean’s mouth, licking into every nook and cranny before flicking across his front teeth as Sam breaks off the kiss, breathing hard and fast. And god, Dean doesn’t know how he’s supposed to not want this. He doesn’t know how to not want Sam.

“God, Sammy. What are you doing to me?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Sam presses one more light kiss to Dean’s lips and answers, easy as pie.

“’M trying to love you. That’s all, Dean. That’s all I want to do.”

He says it so earnestly, so sweetly, that it takes Dean’s breath and for several long seconds he’s sure he’s going to pass out before he remembers how to pull air into his lungs again. And then once he does remember, he has to suck a few deep breaths one right after another. Which, in turn, causes him to feel lightheaded. And by the time he works out a reply he’s not completely certain he’s not going to pass out.

“You can’t just… _say_ things like that,” is Dean’s response, but he melts into Sam’s chest, his hands bumping up Sam’s ribs, reluctant to give up any skin to skin contact as they make their way to Sam’s neck. And then he’s just holding Sam’s head between his fingertips and staring into his hazel eyes and it feels like a moment straight out of some goddamn bodice ripper but he can’t even fucking care. Not when Sam’s looking at him like he is and everything in Dean is begging him to finally just take Sammy upstairs.

“Not even if it’s the truth?” He asks, turning his head to press his lips into Dean’s palm, tongue tickling slightly at Dean’s lifeline.

“Especially not if it’s true. We don’t get to have that, Sam. _This_ ,” Dean says, nodding his head toward their tangled bodies, “we can have. For tonight. But that’s it, Sammy. We can’t-”

Sam sushes him then, both verbally and then with a flash of teeth sinking briefly into the skin at the base of Dean’s thumb. “Tonight we can have it all, remember? So, just for a little while, let me love you. And then, tomorrow, we can be whatever you need for us to be.”

Dean doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s jerkily nodding his head, the hand still resting along Sam’s neck sliding up into his hair to massage at his scalp.

“Okay,” Dean agrees, despite already knowing how much worse tomorrow is going to hurt if he lets Sam throw that word around like it’s nothing. But Dean’s the big brother and, even if he’s been denied the responsibility until this point, it’s still his job to take care of Sam. And then because he’s feeling that urgent need to get Sam into his bed now, “Can we go upstairs?”

Sam lets out a small, breathy laugh and turns his head to press a kiss into Dean’s forehead. “Let’s finish the movie first.”

Dean wants to argue. They chose this movie precisely because they’ve both watched it numerous times. Mostly because they knew they’d probably be paying more attention to each other than the screen. But Sam’s petting softly up and down his side as he looks up at Dean so hopefully that he can’t say no. Besides, he really does need to get back to work on Sam’s chest. He’s determined to send Sam back to California all marked up. At least for a little while anyone who sees this body will know that it, even if only for a night, belonged to Dean.

*~*~*

When the credits finally start rolling on the screen, Sam could jump for joy. He’d wanted to give in when Dean asked earlier, but he was enjoying Dean’s single-minded attention so much he was unwilling to give it up. But now he’s been hard and aching for the better part of an hour and a half and he’s just ready to finally climb into bed with Dean.

So he sends his brother up the stairs first, giving Dean time to brush his teeth and get ready for bed while Sam tosses their clothes – the ones they had to change out of earlier after making a mess of them in the kitchen, in the dryer. He takes several minutes just leaning against the rumbling machine in the garage collecting his thoughts and trying to get his body to calm down. He’d hate to blow his wad before they can even get started. But once he’s got his breathing under control, he pushes off and heads up stairs, locking the doors and turning off lights on his way.

He stops off in the bathroom to brush his teeth before he ventures into Dean’s bedroom, where he’s left the door open and the lamp beside the bed on to light the way. And there’s Dean, propped up in the middle of the bed, shirtless. The cover is pooled at his waist, but Sam can just see his hipbones protruding and peeking out from under it. He’s naked.

He’s naked and there are condoms and lube on the table and suddenly this seems so much more real. Sam’s kind of stuck standing in the threshold until Dean clears his throat and pats the bed. And then Sam is stalking forward, determined not to let his nerves get in the way. Because he wants this, damn it, even if the thought of penetrative sex, whether he’s giving or receiving, is a little daunting.

He drops his shirt halfway across the room and steps out of his pants, underwear still on, just before he climbs up onto the bed. It’s a full size and it’s a little too small for both their large frames, but Dean twists sideways, lying down and pulling Sam with him and it works. Their feet tangle together and Dean looks at Sam from across the pillow, a hopeful of bundle nerves and that, somehow, calms Sam.

“So, um, I thought you should probably top,” Dean says plucking at a loose thread on the cover separating them, Dean still under it and Sam on top of it.

Sam doesn’t even answer at first, instead he leans in, his fingertips slipping under Dean’s chin to lift his face. He kisses his brother softly, feeling Dean’s anxiety like a physical presence. It finds a home with his own. But after several lazy kisses and a little above the waist groping, they both move more into turned on than anything else.

“Whatever you think, Dean,” Sam whispers between kisses, trying to wriggle under the cover just to be stopped by Dean’s hand on his hip. His fingers tickle along the waistband of Sam’s underwear, asking permission, and Sam nods eagerly.

Dean grasps the elastic and tugs it out and then down, moaning as soon as Sam’s cock, hard and damp at the tip, springs free. And then, “Yeah. You should top,” he says as Sam lifts to help him get them the rest of the way down and then off.

Sam grins and nuzzles into Dean’s neck for a second before he nips gently at Dean’s earlobe, “As long as you will in the morning.”

Dean chuckles and nods, pulling the cover up and over Sam’s body when he finally works it out from under him. And then they’re making out eagerly, naked bodies slotting together and pulling groans out of both of them.

Dean pulls Sam over him, reaching back to grab the bottle of lube and then pressing it into Sam’s hand. And Sam’s never really done this for someone else before, but he’s done it enough for himself that when he nudges one slick finger into Dean’s puckered opening, he knows just how deep to push and just where to crook and rub to find his prostate. And then he’s nibbling at Dean’s hips and thighs as he works his finger in and out, loosening the ring of muscle and reapplying lube liberally as he does.

The whole time Sam’s opening him up, Dean shivers and whimpers, legs spreading wider and wider until he’s sprawled from one side to the other, hips pumping up and down to meet Sam’s gentle thrusts. His dick bobs untouched against his stomach every time he wiggles and Sam has to actively stop himself from lurching up to catch the tip between his lips. He remembers how it felt earlier gliding between his lips and he wants it so much. But more than that, he wants to get his throbbing dick into Dean and that seems to be something Dean is desperate for as well.

“Come on, Sammy. That’s good, baby. Just get up here and let me…” Dean flails out blindly, eyes sweeping over Sam instead of watching what he’s doing and in his bid to get his hand on the box of condoms, he knocks his phone, a box of tissues, and a pair of glasses off the bedside table. But he flings his hand victoriously toward Sam when it comes back with the box, ignoring the mess he’s just made. His hand is shaking when Sam takes it from him, digging one out before dropping the others to join the rest of the items littering the floor now.

“I don’t think you’re stretched enough,” argues, fitting the package between lips before finding the bottle of lube again, aiming to reapply and spend a little more time getting Dean ready. Except Dean seems to have other ideas.

He snatches the packet from Sam’s mouth and rips it open with his teeth. And then he pulls Sam in for a few quick, dirty kisses, tongue flicking sinuously against Sam’s, before he pulls the condom out and reaches down to find Sam’s cock.

“’S good, baby boy. I like the burn,” and then, making Sam almost growl with how hot it is, “I wanna feel it for days.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you, Dean,” Sam groans as Dean’s hand finds its target, closing around his cock for the first time and stroking twice before he slides the condom over the head, pinching the tip to leave a little room. Sam can’t help himself, and he fucks into Dean’s hand when it comes back to slick lube up and down his latex covered length. He sucks a few wet kisses into Dean’s neck as Dean lines Sam up and then lifts his legs, wrapping them around Sam’s waist.

“Yeah, but it’s gonna hurt so goddamn good, Sammy. Let me have it.” When Sam is still hesitant to push forward, Dean turns his head enough so that his lips brush over the shell of Sam’s ear when he whispers, “Come on, where’s my pushy little brother? Give it to me, baby boy.”

“Goddamn,” Sam grunts, his hand flying down to hold the base of his dick steady as he slides the tip into the searing heat of Dean’s ass. He meets so much resistance with the first push that he almost pulls back. But then the head pops suddenly in and Dean gasps. Sam is so fucking close to retreating, but Dean clings to him, legs around his waist, one arm around his neck, and the fingers of his other hand digging into Sam’s bicep.

And then, gritty and raw and so fucking awed, Dean exhales around a deep, throaty, “Fuck _yes_ , Sammy.”

For several seconds, Sam feels frozen in place, shuddering as Dean’s muscles can’t decide if they want to expel him or draw him in deeper. The rippling around the head of his dick has him twitching to move, but he’s terrified that if he does too soon he’s going to actually hurt Dean in ways that won’t be good at all.

“It’s good, Sammy,” Dean whimpers, slurring the words as his hands smooth up and down Sam’s back. And god, he sounds drunk on it. Inebriated by the feel of Sam’s cock splitting him open and it would be funny if it wasn’t suck a fucking turn on. Fuck. This is nothing like being with a woman. _Nothing_. It’s so much better.

“Move,” Dean says, his hips starting to rock on their own, trying to urge Sam to take what he wants and give Dean what he needs.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, lifting up enough to look Dean in the eye, holding himself steady with one hand on either side of Dean’s head. Dean’s eyes are blown wide and there’s the prettiest flush highlighting the freckles scattered across his nose and Sam suddenly wants to bury himself deep and then spend hours flicking his tongue over every one of them while Dean squirms needy and desperate on his dick.

“I swear,” Dean starts, surging up to nip at Sam’s lips and then run his tongue along afterward to soothe the sting, “if you don’t move right now, I’m going to flip you over and ride your cock so fucking hard.”

Sam chuckles, kissing Dean sweetly as he lets himself sink a little deeper. “Big words.”

“Well, I’m the big brother, so…” There’s a twinkle in his eye that says those words don’t do it for him like they do for Sam, but he’s willing to throw Sam a bone anyway. But it’s Dean who gets the bone, because Sam can’t help the way his hips jerk and then he’s balls deep in Dean’s body. And he would laugh at his own bad joke except the way Dean reacts isn’t funny at all.

“Yessss,” Dean hisses, arching his back as his eyes fall closed, “’s been so fucking long and I need… I want… Sammy, please.”

But Dean doesn’t have to finish his request. Sam knows exactly what he’s asking for, what he needs so badly. Sam pulls out almost all the way, the head of his dick just holding Dean open before he rolls his hips and stuffs Dean full again. The move earns him a full body shudder and a hoarse cry.

“Again,” Dean breathes, “Harder, baby boy. Faster.”

Sam fucks him just like that, long, hard strokes that have Dean threatening to shatter in a matter of minutes and Sam fighting to keep from coming. But then he slows down, grinds himself deep into Dean’s ass and then stills, trading sloppy kisses until Dean’s composed himself again and Sam feels like he can move without blowing everywhere. And then it’s on again. Full length thrusts that have the headboard hitting the wall with the force of Sam’s body slapping into Dean’s.

And that’s how it goes, over and over again. Sam takes them right to the edge and then grits his teeth around his own body’s disappointment as he turns the heat back down to simmer. They’re sweaty and trembling, fingers of both hands entwined over Dean’s head as Dean gasps for breath under him what feels like hours later. And, Christ but Sam knows they can’t keep going like this. He’s going to have to give it up at some point, but this is it. This and maybe a quickie in the morning is all he gets and he’s just not ready for it to end.

It’s possible he murmurs something to that effect into the hot, sticky skin of Dean’s neck around biting sucks that will leave him marked for days, Sam’s sure. And when Dean answers, “Me either, Sammy. God. Want this forever,” Sam’s heart soars and then plummets a second later, “But we can’t, baby boy. We gotta… just this. That’s it. I’m so sorry-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. Instead he pulls back and pounds into Dean again. And again and again. And if his hips are a little punishing, that’s okay, because Dean throws his head back and comes, dick pulsing untouched and spilling over his stomach and Sam follows right after, tremors wracking his body. He falls limp over Dean’s smaller frame, fighting to catch his breath as Dean’s fingers dance softly over his heaving back.

*~*~*

Sam, Dean discovers, is pretty much useless after he comes. In the kitchen, Dean had to urge him up off the floor and toward the bathroom so he could change, but this time there’s no moving him at all it seems. So for a little while he deals with Sam’s crushing weight. And mostly he doesn’t mind. He uses the opportunity to be sappy as all fuck.

He runs his fingers through Sam’s long, damp hair and kisses the side of his face. He whispers things into Sam’s ear that he would never admit to upon threat of torture even. Things like, _sweet baby boy_ and _love you so goddamn much, baby_ and _best I ever had, Sammy_. And if it makes his stomach flip when Sam answers each admission with a tender kiss to his jaw, no one ever has to know but Dean.

But then it starts to get uncomfortable. He’s slick with lube from the crack of his ass up to his balls and Sam’s gone soft now, slowly slipping free. He’s starting to find it difficult to breathe and Sam’s own breathing has gone suspiciously deep and even. And that’s when he starts trying to wiggle out from under Sam’s body. Sam, being the octopus that his is, tries to keep Dean under him, or at the very least in the bed, but Dean’s having none of it.

“Roll over, Sammy. I gotta clean up and you need to get that condom off.” Sam huffs and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist when he’s almost free, tugging him back and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, man. I’m coming back and then you can be as cuddly as you want. But let’s clean up some first.”

Sam finally relents and lets Dean slide out from under him and when Dean comes back from the bathroom with a wet washcloth in hand, Sam is on his back, condom off and tied, dangling from one hand. He’s not asleep, but Dean can tell his lids are heavy and he’s so fucking close.

So Dean, having already cleaned himself, Dean gingerly takes the condom and tosses it in the can beside the bed. Then he uses the fresh cloth to clean Sam, gentle where he’s most sensitive and he fights the urge to lean over and place a tender kiss on the head of Sam’s soft dick. But he vows that, in the morning, he’s going to get that gorgeous cock in his mouth. He can’t let this end without knowing how Sam feels sliding into his throat.

He must be blushing when he looks up to meet Sam’s eyes because he’s smirking, but it’s sweet and only the slightest bit lecherous. But Sam doesn’t comment and instead holds his arms out, indicating that Dean should spread himself out over his chest again. It’s quickly becoming Dean’s favorite spot to be, which is worrisome, but he’ll worry about it another day. For tonight he drops the cloth on the floor and sinks into his brother’s waiting arms. It’s not like the bed’s big enough for anything else anyway. 

Dean falls asleep to the lullaby of Sam’s deep, even breathing and the steady thud of his heart beating against Dean’s ear.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I told you guys lately that I love you? Seriously. Thanks for reading!

  
  


Dean has, on occasion, woken up in bed with someone and been utterly clueless as to who it is for the first few second his eyes are open. But not this time. When he wakes up to soft sunlight filtering through his blinds and curtain with a huge arm thrown over his waist, he knows exactly who it is plastered to his back. There’s no doubt just to whom the lips dragging over the back of his neck belong. There’s no confusion at all. But there’s a brief bout of play pretend.

He pretends he gets to have this every morning. He moans, a croaking sound, and scoots back into the sleep warm body draped over and pressing into him. He imagines this is okay, that there’s nothing untoward about the erection nudging at his crack. He twists when a hot, wet mouth closes over his earlobe, sucking gently and lets himself forget, even for just a moment, that he never gets to wake up to this again.

Sam’s hard on fits snugly into Dean’s crack, the base of it dragging over his sensitive, sore opening and he laughs softly, finally acknowledging his brother. _Brother_ , he reminds himself harshly. _Baby brother._ And that makes his next words sour slightly on his tongue. But it doesn’t stop him from saying them or meaning them.

“Thought you wanted me to top this morning.”

“I do,” Sam replies eagerly, teeth scraping over Dean’s stubble as his hand slides down over Dean’s body, stopping to cup his morning wood. “Thought we might do that in the shower.”

Dean thinks about that and just under the initial thought that Sam would look fucking amazing with water dripping down over his tightly muscled back is the thought that Sam’s got several inches on him. He’d have to stoop down a little to make it work. Plus, Sam’s never been fucked before and the water washing away the lube or conditioner or whatever they might use would make it more uncomfortable than Dean’s willing to allow.

“Think the bed would be better.” He lowers his own hand to fit over the top of Sam’s, guiding him to squeeze and rub Dean’s balls just how he likes, a little rough.

“Yeah but you have work. And we need a shower. I just thought-”

“You’re forgetting that I kind of own the place. And I haven’t been in yet this week and things seem to be alright. I think Ellen and Ash will make it alright if I’m a little late. It’s for a good cause, after all.”

Sam laughs at that, breathy and so fucking sweet. Dean is already aching at the thought of sending him off in a few hours. But he’s going to. Ash texted him last night that he’d have Sam’s car ready by noon. So Dean plans to spend the morning here with Sam. Slow morning sex followed by a shared shower and breakfast. And then they’ll head to the shop. And if Dean’s heart drops and his stomach rolls at the thought, well, that’s something he’ll deal with later. Because right now Sam’s rocking into him, rubbing his dick up and down Dean’s crack and he could slip right in if he wanted. So Dean better get things moving in the right direction if he plans on topping.

He knows his morning breath has to be horrible, but he turns over to press a few soft kisses over Sam’s lips anyway and Sam doesn’t complain at all. And when Dean slips down Sam’s body to take his beautiful cock into his mouth, Sam chokes and jerks up, apologizing when his dick gags Dean in the process. But Dean just shakes his head and encourages Sam to thrust up again, loving the feel of the mushroom head pushing at the back of his throat.

Sam still tastes faintly of latex, but mostly he just tastes like skin and sweat and it’s a perfect mixture so Dean lets his tongue run over the satiny skin every time he lifts up. And when one of Sam’s big hands cups the side of his face, he twists, bobbing shallowly, so that Sam can feel the slide of the head of his dick through Dean’s cheek. One, two, three times he bobs like that, really just taking only the first three inches so that Sam can feel the obscenity of it trying to protrude and then Sam is pulling him off.

“Can’t. Fuck, I swear. Gonna come,” his words are rushed urgent and desperate and Dean doesn’t doubt he’s really close.

“So? Let me swallow you down, baby.”

Dean tries to get Sam’s dick back in his mouth, but Sam holds him off.

“Not yet. Let’s get you in me first.”

Dean doesn’t ask if Sam’s sure and he doesn’t try to take Sam in again. He pats Sam’s thigh and asks him to turn over, telling him it’ll be a little easier that way and Sam just nods and gets himself arranged while Dean is fishing the lube and a condom off of the floor. 

When he sits back up, Dean is greeted with the sight of Sammy lying on his stomach, hips churning slightly as he presses into the mattress. And at first all Dean can do is look, let his eyes map every curve and contour, from his broad shoulders to his slim waist and the dimples at the base of his spine. The mounds of his ass sit atop his thick, strong thighs and suddenly Dean wants to mark his backside the same way he did his chest. Jesus. He doesn’t ever want anyone else to get to see this. He wants this view to be only his for the rest of his fucking life.

Biting back on the words he wishes he could say, half broken pleas for Sam to just fucking _stay_ and they’ll figure it out, he runs an unsteady hand up one of Sam’s legs and wordlessly encourages him to spread them. Sam does, carefully lifting his leg and looking back over his shoulder so he doesn’t kick Dean when he places it on the other side of Dean’s body.

He’s even more gorgeous like this, legs splayed, the pink of his hole just visible above his balls and Dean itches to taste him in a wholly different way. But first…

“Raise up a little,” Dean says, tucking the condom and lube up against the outside of Sam’s leg as he situates himself in the v between them. Sam obeys without question and hisses sharply when Dean worms a hand under him and slowly pulls his cock back. Once it’s sticking out perfectly between Sam’s balls, he pats Sam’s ass with his free hand and Sam lowers himself carefully, whining at the slight discomfort. But fuck. It’s so worth it and Dean knows Sam will agree in a few minutes. 

At first Dean can only stare. The brother thing isn’t his thing except maybe for this one second it is. Because there’s something about it being his little brother all laid out like a sacrifice for him that makes his cock twitch. He reaches up and runs a fingertip down Sam’s quickly purpling cock and revels in the way Sam trembles.

“Have you ever had anyone eat you out, Sammy?” Dean asks, voice much steadier than he actually feels. He collects the drop of precome on Sam’s tip before it can be lost in the sheets and sucks it off the end of his finger as Sam shakes his head. “Interested?” Dean doesn’t even have time to hope the answer is yes before Sam is nodding heartily.

Grinning, Dean lowers himself to the bed between his brother’s spread thighs, “You might want to hold on to something.”

Sam squeaks at the first brush of Dean’s tongue over his entrance and Dean moans, going straight into a sucking kiss when the muscle flutters under his attention. Sam tastes fucking amazing. Sweat and skin, like his cock, but it’s darker back here, muskier and tinged just a little dirty. Just the way Dean likes and he groans as he uses his thumbs to pry Sam open a bit more so his tongue can delve deeper. And then he’s lost.

He alternates between tonguing and sucking at Sam’s hole and moving down to tease up and down his cock, the tip of his tongue playing at the slit every time he ventures down. And Sam squirms so pretty for him, begging and sobbing into the pillow and it doesn’t take long for Dean to find himself rutting into the bed.

*~*~*

Sam knows he’s been repeating the words, “Please, Dean,” almost since the first swipe of Dean’s wet tongue over his hole, but he can’t stop and the longer Dean goes the more Sam is sure that he both needs Dean to stop right the fuck now and wants him to never, ever quit. But when he starts feeling like he might come despite the odd angle of his dick, then he gets serious with his pleading.

“Fuck, gotta stop, Dean, Gotta… gonna come. Fuck, _please_.”

Dean pulls off Sam with a smack of his lips and a whine like he’s giving up something truly delicious. Sam gasps at the loss of Dean’s warmth and then Dean breathes over his wet crack and Sam shivers and hisses. Dean chuckles but pats Sam’s cheek gently.

“Alright, baby, lift up again.” And when Sam does, Dean eases his dick back up, soothing Sam with a couple of strokes when he groans at the sensation. 

When Dean starts pressing with lubed fingers, they slip in with almost no resistance because Sam’s already relaxed and loosened some from the tongue bath Dean eagerly gave him. And Dean praises him all through it, telling Sam how beautiful he is and how good he’s taking it and promising he’s going to make it all worth it and Sam believes every word.

And when Dean finally lines up his latex covered cock and uses one hand to tilt Sam’s ass, Sam buries his face in the pillow and holds his breath, expecting at least some pain. Once Dean’s dick catches on the rim and isn’t in any danger of dislodging, he uses the free hand to soothe up and down Sam’s flank.

“Easy, baby. Just gonna be uncomfortable for a second and then it gets so fucking good. Come on, little brother, open up for me.”

“Shit,” Sam swears, unconsciously tilting his ass even more, causing Dean to slide right in. And he’s right, it’s briefly painful when the head pries him open but the second it’s through the burn starts fading. And Sam concentrates on how that ‘little brother’ sounded coming out of Dean’s mouth as Dean sinks the rest of the way in.

And then Dean’s just fucking him, slow and steady and rubbing perfectly over his prostate, a constant pressure that has Sam lifting his head and moaning like a fucking whore. But he can’t help it. God, he never thought it would be like this. Never thought it’d feel so good he wouldn’t even be able to see straight.

“Yeah, baby boy, so tight, Sammy. Look good like this. Jesus, baby. Wish we could do this every fucking day.”

Sam finds himself eating the words up, wanting to tell Dean, even in his sexual euphoria, that they _can_ do this. He can stay and Dean can have him whenever he wants. And he’ll come back for his breaks and once he’s out of school he’ll move and they can do this all the goddamn time. But he doesn’t. Instead he rises up, lifts his top half until he can help fuck himself back on Dean’s cock.

Dean doesn’t last long after that. He comes with shout into the condom and Sam whines because he wishes they could have done this bare. Wants Dean to fill him up and mark him from the inside. And he might be saying that out loud because Dean’s whispering, “Yeah, god, fill you so good, baby boy. Make you mine,” as he reaches around to jack Sam the last few times it take before he’s spilling all over Dean’s bed. 

Sam collapses in the wet spot and doesn’t even fucking care. In fact when Dean falls on top of him he thinks it’s absolutely perfect even. Wouldn’t have it any other way, come spot and all. But then Dean’s cock slides out and his ass feels really fucking gross and he needs a shower.

Dean doesn’t argue with that and, surprisingly to Sam, he doesn’t even fuss when Sam insists they get in together. And while Sam wishes it could be sexual, it’s really not. They’re both fuck tired and spent, so when Sam runs soapy hands over Dean’s back, there’s nothing in it but a desire to get Dean clean and maybe massage a few kinks out of his back. Dean returns the favor and then they make out for a few minutes under the hot spray. It’s slow and easy, languid strokes of tongue and gentle nibbling and Sam wishes this could go on forever too. It’s very possible he even sheds a tear or two because he doesn’t want to give this up. But the spray of the shower washes the evidence of his pain away and he keeps quiet. Determined not to make this harder on Dean than it has to be.

So when Dean reaches down to cut the water off, Sam steps back without fuss and they get dressed mostly without incident. Sam might steal a kiss or two and Dean sneaks a few gropes, but Sam figures they should take advantage while they can. This is all almost over. At least for a little while. Sam refuses to entertain the idea of Dean actually never wanting this again. That just hurts too much. So he keeps thinking in terms of a temporary separation. 

“Want to see what we can find to eat downstairs? Or we could go to the diner. Nan’ll be upset if you don’t stop in to say bye anyway.”

Dean’s drying his hair with a towel, meeting Sam’s eyes in the mirror where Sam is standing just behind him running a hand up and down his back under his t-shirt. His eyes are so goddamn green and his smile is satisfied and happy when it tugs at the side of his mouth and Sam wants to taste it. So he grips Dean’s hips and spins him around, boxing him in against the sink with a hand on either side of him on the counter. He nudges his forehead against Dean’s and presses in for a soft kiss, all lips and no tongue, and he grins when Dean whines.

It’s Dean who deepens the kiss, his hands coming up to pull Sam tighter into him, one hand on the small of Sam’s back and one threading through his still damp hair. Dean kisses him deep and breathless, pulling away only when the need for air overshadows their need for each other. Their cheeks slide together and Sam moves in even closer, desperate to eliminate all the space he can. There’s a hollow feeling in his chest when Dean slides a hand around and starts pressing on Sam’s shoulder in an attempt to move him back. Sam reluctantly steps back, giving Dean the room he obviously needs even if Sam can tell he doesn’t actually want it at all. 

“We have to stop, Sammy.”

Sam groans but lets his hands drop as he takes another step backward. Already he’s itching for the feel of Dean against him again. The one night thing was such a fantastically horrible idea. Sam wouldn’t trade it for anything, but he would give just about anything for it to never end.

“I know,” he agrees, leaning back on the wall, trying to content himself with just watching Dean finish his morning routine.

“Sorry. Just, no one knows yet but when they find out I’d rather not have too many people remember that we were all over each other.”

Sam shrugs, “No one’s watching right now.”

“Yeah, but we might as well get used to it, right?”

“Or we could just… _not_. Last night was great and this morning has been amazing. We could take a few more days. I don’t have to leave. I could just stay here. Go to work with you during the day and help out. And then, at night we could-”

“Sam, please,” Dean cuts in, and he both looks and sounds distraught, so Sam snaps his mouth shut and nods. That’s it. That was his last move. He’s not going to push anymore. Not right now anyway.

“Okay. Just let me brush my teeth and my hair and we’ll get going.”

Dean nods and steps away from the mirror. “I’ll grab your clothes out of the dryer so you can pack them.”

Once Sam is ready and all his clothes are stuffed into his duffle, they head toward town. Sam rides in the middle, his fingers entwined with Dean’s between the outside of their thighs, only letting go when  
Dean needs to shift gears. And Dean lets him have the point of contact, even occasionally squeezing Sam’s hand gently.

They talk about how they’re going to carry on from here. Dean says it’s okay for Sam to text or call him. In fact, he says he _wants_ Sam to do so. He’s serious about trying to build a relationship as brothers. Sam just wishes that didn’t have to have the unspoken _and nothing more_ tacked on the end of it.

Nonetheless, Sam agrees that he’ll keep in contact and he makes Dean promise the same.  
But he takes it a step further. He lets Dean know that he doesn’t just want to be Dean’s brother even now. Maybe more now. He wants it all. And he makes Dean swear, before he’ll let go of his hand so they can get out at the diner, that if he starts to feel the same way he’ll let Sam know.

“I mean it, Dean. No matter where we are in life or in relation to each other, no matter who else is in my life or yours. If you decide you want this, with me, we make it work and damn everything and everyone else.”

Dean nods and swallows, staring out the windshield instead of meeting Sam’s eyes. But then he says, so low Sam would miss it if he wasn’t totally tuned in to Dean at the moment, “Not wanting it isn’t the problem.”

“Okay,” Sam replies, because fair enough, “if you ever decide you might want to let us have it, then. If it ever starts looking like a real possibility instead of a daydream. We’ll make it work. I fucking promise you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Dean winces and nods and Sam would swear there are tears welling up in his eyes, but Sam releases him and he climbs out too quickly for Sam to confirm it. And by the time Sam joins him in front of the car, his eyes are clear and he smiling sadly. It feels final, in a way. Like they left SamandDean in the car and now they’re Sam and Dean, complete with proper physical distance. And so Sam doesn’t reach out and touch even if he really wants to.

As he steps forward to open the door, Dean does reach out, grabbing Sam by the elbow just long enough to stop him from stepping inside.

“Please don’t say anything. I’m going to tell them all, but I want to wait at least until you’ve left. It’s just that Nan, Ellen, and Jo really like you and they’ll probably be pissed when they find out. I don’t want you leaving on bad terms.”

Sam nods and agrees not to let the cat out of the bag. Not that he would have anyway. He’s perfectly content with no one else knowing at all. The fewer people who know the more likely it is that Dean will give in and take what they both want.

They get through breakfast without much fanfare. Nan eyes a few hickeys their clothes don’t hide well and grins knowingly. Sam briefly wonders how Dean will explain that later, but then Nan’s asking why he’s leaving and he chimes in with some excuse about finishing the roadtrip he started out on even though it’s bullshit. But the whole damn situation is bullshit, so whatever. Dean can figure out what to tell people after he’s gone and Sam will play along. He’s not much in the mood to do it right now though.

After they’ve finished eating and paid, Nan hands Sam a bag full of food for the road and the biggest Styrofoam cup of coffee he’s ever seen. “For the road,” she says before pulling him into a firm hug. On her tiptoes, she almost reaches his ear with her mouth, and she whispers, “Come back for him. Don’t let him push you away.”

And then she’s shooing them out the door with a pat on Dean’s ass and a wink tossed toward Sam. Sam sees, not for the first time, where Ellen and Jo get their spunk. He gives her a huge smile and a wave as they get back into the car to drive it across to the parking lot to the shop.

There sits his car, off the lift and waiting for him in the parking lot. That’s when it all feels real. Sam’s heart sinks and his hands shake when he stands up from the passenger seat, arms loaded with food and coffee. He moves on autopilot as he puts first the provisions from Nan and then his duffle into his car. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, knows Dean is feeling this just as deeply as he is, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to beg Dean to just give him a chance. But he doesn’t.

Instead he follows Dean into the office and pays for the repairs with his card. “Parts only,” Dean insists, and then quietly, only for Sam’s ears, “family doesn’t pay for labor.” And Sam can see how sour the words sit in Dean’s mouth. Not for the first time he wishes he could make that better for Dean. But, if wishes were horses... 

Still, Dean plants just a tiny seed of hope in Sam’s heart when he pokes his head out to make sure no one is nearby before he rushes back and pulls Sam into a quick but thorough kiss. It takes like despair and longing and not all of it is Sam’s. There’s hope. No matter how small. It’s there. 

When Dean breaks away, he runs his thumb over Sam’s bottom lip to wipe away the moisture and then steps back. He doesn’t apologize out loud, but Sam sees it in the depths of his green eyes. Sam won’t offer forgiveness though, because there’s no need for it. Dean has nothing for which he should be contrite.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's our second update for this week! We should finish up either by the end of next week or the beginning of the week after.
> 
> I hate to see this come to a close, but I think the boys have suffered enough. And I'm excited about moving on to my next big thing! I hope you guys enjoy this update, though it's not hugely eventful.

  
  


Dean’s day goes by in a blur. He’s sure he does some oil changes, some minor repairs. He probably cuts up with Ash and gives Ellen a hard time. He’s sure he eats something for lunch. A sandwich from the diner most likely. He knows he drops Sam’s key off at the Town Inn on the way home. But that’s about all he can say for sure.

Other than the fact that his chest constantly feels like it’s on the verge of caving in and his head hurts. And yeah, it’s difficult to breathe and the passenger seat feels monumentally empty. Which is fucking ridiculous because it’s not even like Sam spent much time there while he was here for less than a week. Shit. Less than a week. And somehow it still feels like forever. Like he’s always just been waiting for Sam to waltz into his life. Like he’s been holding a Sam shaped space next to him since before he can remember and now that it’s held the man himself, it’s more hollow than it’s ever been.

He eats dinner without paying much attention to what kind of Chef Boyardee is in the can he opens and heats. And so many times as he goes through the motions of spoon to mouth, spoon to bowl, spoon to mouth, he thumbs over the unlock button on his phone. But he never actually presses it. Sam’s still driving anyway probably. So he finishes his bowl and cleans up his mess and then he has no fucking clue what to do with himself.

There’s no drunken father to care for. There’s no Sam to distract him. There’s nothing on television worth watching. And it’s still light outside so going to bed is out. He ends up tinkering under the hood of his baby, making note of anything he should probably replace while he buries himself in the grease and grime that feels like home in an odd way. But the dirtier his hands get the more they remind him of John’s and that just makes him feel lonely and guilty. So by the time the sun starts to sink below the horizon, casting long shadows over the entrance to the garage, Dean is wiping his hands clean. Or mostly clean.

He heads into the house to wash up. And then, by some fucking miracle, he finds a lone beer at the bottom of the fridge. Downing half of it propped against the sink, his eyes settle on the floor and he remembers what it felt like to ride the high of post orgasmic bliss straddling Sam’s lap right there in the spot just in front of his feet. The rest of the beer disappears too quickly as he stands there for entirely too long. He’d swear he can hear the ghost of their moans echoing faintly off the walls. Except he’s not actually insane.

With a huff, he flings the beer bottle into the trash and checks his watch. He adds up the hours quickly. Nine hours since Sam pulled rolled onto the road and pointed his little civic west. He’s at least a third of the way home if he hasn’t stopped too many times. If Dean calls him right now and begs him to come back, the distance back to Dean’s driveway would be shorter than if he keeps driving home.

Dean pulls his phone out and his thumb itches to type the words.

 _I hope you’re stopping somewhere for the night._ He taps out instead, grimacing as he deliberately drops his phone on the kitchen table and heads upstairs to shower.

As he stands under the spray, letting the hot water wash over him and soothe tired muscles and rinse away physical aches and pains, he tells himself he won’t tell Sam no. He’s not going to ask Sam to come back. But if _Sam_ asks, Dean will say yes. He knows it isn’t fair. He knows Sam would be exasperated with him if he knew Dean was making a deal with himself without clueing Sam in to it. But it’s the best he can do right now.

Sam is his brother and as much as he wishes he could pretend otherwise, or just not care, or hell, get off on it like Sam does, he can’t. And part of him knows this is going to end about as well as a fucking train wreck, because his need for Sam hasn’t diminished at all. In fact, every time he shifts the right way and his ass twinges, he just needs Sam even more. Last night was probably his best and worst idea to date. And he’s had some seriously horrible ideas in his time. Also some great ones. So that’s saying something. But, good or bad or both, it didn’t actually help anything.

Well, unless he counts jerk off material. Because it sure as hell helped in that department. And, as if on cue, his dick starts to fill out, thickening and perking up and Dean rolls his eyes. He pretty sure that jacking off to memories of Sam is the last thing he should do right now. But he’s under no illusion that he’s going to refrain, so with a sigh he wraps his hand around the base. He’ll just get off quick and be done with it.

But that’s not how it happens at all. He starts off methodical, jerking fast and hard with only release in mind. Then he thinks about Sammy. The way Sammy looked up at him when he was sucking Dean off. The feel of Sam’s hair in his fist. God, fuck, Sam’s cock inside of him. And then he’s slowing down clenching on nothing just to feel the ache resonate from his ass. 

Before he even fully realizes he’s going to do it, he’s got his hands soaped up and he’s reaching back with one to find his entrance. Two fingers inserted with no buildup has him arching and gasping, both from the sudden intrusion and the left over burn from last night. But it’s so goddamn good. He gets them buried just right, the tips curving over his prostate, rubbing steadily at it as his other hand runs from his balls all the way up to the head of his dick, and then back again, slowly, tortuously.

Dean remembers how fucking hard he came for Sam, tightening down on that perfect cock and blowing his load all over his stomach with no other stimulation. He wishes he could do that right now, but that’s only ever happened for him with a partner and only rarely at that. So he finally gets his fist around his throbbing length and starts stripping it hard and fast again, root to tip. His fingers start thrusting, in and out and when he feels like he’s sitting right on the edge, he fits another in alongside the first two, stretching them a little.

Dean comes with his face plastered to the shower wall, back arched, fingers shoved as deep as he can get them, and Sam’s name falling out on a quivering breath. He pants against the wall as his toes slowly uncurl and he lets his fingers slip free. Fuck but his ass is aching even more now. And it’d be perfect except he’s missing the weight of Sam on his back or sprawled over his chest.

Oh shaky legs he finishes his shower and gets dried off, slipping on an old pair of pajama bottoms. He walks deliberately slowly back down the stairs and to his phone, not sure if he’s hoping Sam has replied or that he hasn’t. He wants to know Sam is safe. He wants to talk to Sam. But he’s scared his resolve is going to crumble more than it already has.

_One missed call_

Dean hesitates before tapping Sam’s number to call him back. And he hears the smile on Sam’s face in the warmth of his, “Hello.”

“Hey, Sammy.”

Dean lowers himself to a chair and for several seconds he just listens to his brother breathe, wishes the sound wasn’t so tinny and far away.

“I decided to stop for a few hours. But I guess I’ll get up early and push the rest of the way tomorrow,” Sam finally says into the silence in which Dean’s been lost.

 _Ask to come back,_ Dean thinks.

“Did you make good time?” is what he says, glancing up at the clock on the wall and seeing Sam’s been gone almost ten hours now.

“Yeah, pretty good. Didn’t have to stop for anything but bathroom breaks. Nan packed donuts and biscuits with jelly. I’ve mostly just been snacking on that. Right now I’m waiting for a pizza though; I’m starving.”

Dean laughs softly and then closes his eyes and leans over to rest his elbow on the table. Like this he can imagine Sam’s just sitting across from him. He never left. Dean never pushed him away. And it’s just any random conversation they might have as brothers. _Or lovers_ – his mind supplies.

“Yeah? What kind of pizza?”

When they’d had it with Michael and Jo, Sam hadn’t offered any preference. He’d let them pick and ate without complaint. But Dean wonders what kind of pizza Sam gets when he’s on his own.

“Veggie Lover’s.” 

Dean is not at all surprised, but he scoffs anyway, more for show than anything. Sammy takes care of himself and Dean _likes_ that. Not only does it show in his Adonis-like body, but it means he’s trying to be healthy and Dean doesn’t have to worry so much.

“Come on, Sammy. Not even one peperoni? It’s good for you.”

“No it isn’t,” Sam replies, mildly amused though Dean can still hear an echo of pain in his voice.

“Yeah, well, it _tastes_ good, so that’s gotta count for something.”

“Sometimes it does, I guess. But sometimes you have to do what’s right for you even if it isn’t what’s most appealing at the moment, right?”

And suddenly they’re having a whole other discussion and Dean sits up straighter, opens his eyes and stops pretending.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” _Ask to come back,_ he thinks again. Harder this time. Willing Sam to hear him.

“It’s okay,” Sam replies, resigned and Dean’s heart lurches. _God, please don’t be giving up already,_ Dean’s thoughts veer toward frantic. “I mean, I’m still convinced it’s all going to work out. But I’ve been thinking and I’m not going to push. You’re the big brother. So I’m just going to trust you that this is what’s best for now. And I hope when you stop thinking this is what’s best, you’ll let me know.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. Because he _knows_ he’s right about this. Whatever they decide to do - and okay, so Dean’s not certain exactly what that’s going to be because he _wants_ \- it needs to be decided with clear heads. This territory is way too uncharted for them to be making rash decisions and playing it fast and loose. But fuck if he isn’t still thinking, _Ask to come back._

“Sam-” His voice cracks and he must sound as broken as he feels because Sam cuts in, overly cheerful.

“It’s fine. Really. We’re good. And we’re just going to get better and better. I have a feeling. But my pizza will be here any minute now and I really do need to sleep some tonight, okay? So I love you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow sometime.”

There are those words again, but spoken so directly and outside of an intimate moment, they feel so much bigger. And fucking terrifying. And Sam must realize it because he breaks the silence.

“You’re my brother, Dean. If for no other reason than that, I’m allowed to love you. Fuck, it’s almost a requirement. Right? And you don’t have to say it back. One of these days you will, but for now, I’m not expecting it. So, I love you and we can talk tomorrow. I’ll call you when I stop for lunch if you don’t think it’ll be too much of a bother while you’re working.”

Clearing his throat and trying to get his erratically beating heart into some kind of rhythm again, Dean says “No, it’s fine. Call whenever.”

“Great. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy.”

When Dean hangs up, he spends a long time just staring into nothing, replaying Sam’s words over and over again. _I’m allowed to love you. I’m allowed to love you. I’m allowed to love you._

And then, out of curiosity, he tries them on for size himself.

“I’m allowed you love you.”

But he’s not sure that’s true.

*~*~*

_The sun beats down on him as he stands somewhere on a desert road. Quite literally. There’s sparkling tan sand stretched out endlessly on either side of a stripe of blacktop running as far as the eye can see. He’s leaned back against the hood of a nondescript car and he’s just waiting._

_It’s hot. So hot he almost can’t endure it. But he doesn’t move. He can see for miles in both directions and there’s nothing but the shimmery wave of heat rising off the pavement, giving the illusion that cool waters await. If only he’d venture farther. He doesn’t though. He just keeps on waiting._

_Even if Sam can’t see it yet, even if he can’t hear it, he knows that black beauty will crest over the horizon soon. Dean’ll come. He has to. There’s just no other option. Sam will stay here in the scorching sun as long as it takes. He’ll greet the end of the world if that’s what it takes, and still keep right on waiting._

Sam wakes up actually feeling hopeful. When he’d spoken to Dean he’d mostly been pretending but there’s something about his dream that buoys him and puts a smile on his face. His dream self had just been so fucking _sure_ , so unrelenting in his belief that Dean wouldn’t leave him waiting forever. So Sam’s going to try to have that kind of faith too.

He sends Dean a generic good morning text before he ever rolls out of bed. And then he hops up, ready to start his day. He’s got a long drive ahead of him, so he decides to go for a run before he gets started.

Sam tucks his phone in the pocket of the athletic pants he pulls on and throws a t-shirt on over his head. After a few stretches, he’s ready to go. He ignores the next vibration of his phone as he slides his motel key into his pocket with it. And then he’s off, feet pounding the ground like they haven’t in several days. And it feels good. So fucking good he runs three quarters of a mile, give or take, before he turns around to head back.

The sun is just popping up, the sky burning orange and pink, as Sam slows to a jog a few hundred feet from his motel. On a whim, he pulls out his phone and snaps a selfie, grinning and sweaty, and sends it in reply to Dean’s, _Too early to know if it’s good yet._ And then he closes the distance to his door, intent on showering.

When Sam comes out of the bathroom, clean and dressed, he checks his phone to find two texts from Dean.

 

The first one reads: _Yeah. Okay. Now it’s a good morning. I like you sweaty._

Followed by: _Shit. Sorry. Not awake all the way._

Sam laughs and taps out a reply.

_It’s okay. I’m not complaining. It’d be alright if you wanted to send me a pic. Need something to set for a contact pic anyway._

_What if I don’t want to? Lol I just woke up. It ain’t pretty._

_I’ve seen you first thing in the morning. You’re perfect. Send the pic, Dean._

To Sam’s surprise, Dean does send a picture. He’s still in bed, shirtless even, Sam can tell from the bare shoulders. There’s a purple bruise evident just above his collarbone that Sam knows his mouth would fit perfectly over. His eyes are slightly squinty, his face is a tad pillow creased, and his hair is standing up at every angle. He’s smiling softly and Sam can remember so clearly how warm and cuddly he is in the mornings. It hurts to look at Dean like this and not know if he’s ever going to see it in person again.

One thing is sure though.

 _Beautiful._

He hits send and then drops his phone on the bed, focusing on making sure he has everything packed because he can’t think about Dean right now. Not like _that_ anyway. But he knows he’ll probably spend a hell of a lot of time over the next few months staring at that picture and wanting. Maybe Dean even knows it. God, Sam hopes so. Hopes it was intentional, leaving him with something that will only intensify his want. Because if Dean knows what he’s doing, if he’s doing it on purpose, then Sam’s hope might not be misplaced.

_You flatter me. Drive safely please. Don’t forget to call when you stop._

_I will. You be careful too. Love you._

Sam doesn’t expect a reply to that and he doesn’t get one. That’s okay though. It’ll happen. At some point it’ll happen.

He drives for almost five hours before he has to stop to fill up again. He pulls into a BP that’s located beside a Waffle House, two birds with one stone, and pumps his gas. Once he’s back in the car, he pulls over to the restaurant and parks. And then, before he gets out, he googles the number for the facility where John is. It takes him a few minutes to get to the right department and, at first they aren’t too keen on giving out any information, not even when he tells them he’s John’s son. But when he finally gets the lady in the billing department to understand that he doesn’t want any medical information, he only wants to pay some or maybe all of the remaining balance for his care, he starts getting somewhere.

It’s just a few thousand dollars. And while a couple of years ago that would have been a lot, he has several thousand tucked away from Mary’s life insurance. He’d decided not to touch it, to live like it wasn’t even there. But this is important. So he gives the lady his account information and has the rest of the bill pulled from his savings account. He also leaves his cell number and asks that it gets to John. Sam’s not sure he wants any sort of familial relationship with the man, but for Dean’s sake, Sam’s going to try to at least be available and get along with the man. If nothing else he can help lift some of the burden from Dean.

He doesn’t tell Dean about it when he calls after finding a booth and ordering his food. He figures Dean will find out soon enough and probably call to give him crap about it. But that can wait. For now he just tells Dean about his uneventful drive so far and makes Dean tell him everything he’s done since he got up. Right down to whether he had bacon or sausage for breakfast. Both, it turns out.

And by the time he’s finished eating, Dean is quiet on the other end of the connection. And Sam doesn’t know what to say that isn’t, _please let me come back_ or _miss you so goddamn much_. So he just holds the phone to his hear and listens to the cadence of Dean’s breathing until Dean finally breaks the silence.

“Michael asked about you.”

“Yeah?” Sam ask, a sad smile tugging at his mouth.

“Yeah. Jo stopped by on her way to take him to school. They said to tell you to come back soon.”

 _Did you tell them?_ Sam wants to ask. He doubts it if Jo is eager for him to return.

“Tell them I miss them already. And I’ll be back… well… whenever you want me to come back.”

“Sam-” Dean sighs, but Sam cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“I know, I know. You need time and you need space. Look, I have to go, okay? Need to get back on the road. I’ll call you when I get home if it’s not too late.”

“Call no matter what time it is. I want to know you’re home safe,” Dean replies and he sounds, for the first time, so far away. And Sam feels every single mile between.

“Yeah. Love you, Dean. Talk to you later.”

“You too.”

Sam pays for his food and he’s barreling down the interstate again before he realizes those words have so much potential. _You too_. Obviously they could have been in reply to Sam’s _talk to you later._ That would make sense. But what if…

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes the pedal down a little harder. He’s not going to think about it. Not going to overanalyze everything Dean says to him. He just wants to get home and curl up with his head in Charlie’s lap and be coddled for a while.

But no matter how much he swears he’s not going to think about it, those words keeps swirling in his head.

_You too._

_You too._

_You too._

It’s closing in on midnight when Sam makes it home. Instead of calling Dean, Sam sends him a text before he climbs out of the car and stretches. He can’t talk to Dean right now. Can’t stand the thought of hearing his voice and knowing there are almost two thousand miles separating them.

When he lets himself into their house, Charlie is the only one up, or maybe she’s the only one home. Sam isn’t sure. But she greats him with a solemn expression and a hug that lasts almost forever. And it’s nearly long enough.

“Bed?” She asks and Sam nods, allowing her to interlace their fingers and lead him down the dark hallway. She lets him stop at his room long enough to drop his duffle just inside the door. But they end up, him still dressed in his jeans and t-shit and socked feet and her in a pair of emoji pajamas, curled up in her bed.

Charlie lies on her back and pulls Sam into her side, his head resting on her chest and one of his legs thrown over the tops of hers. And when he starts to cry, tears falling steadily but silently and dampening the fabric of her shirt, she just rubs soothingly at his back and doesn’t say a word.

Sam falls asleep to the feel of her fingers carding through his hair and her lips pressed to the top of his forehead.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a day early, but oh well. We're _right_ there. So close. So I'm winding things up and trying to get what I'm pretty sure will be the last chapter written so that I can get started on the epilogue to wrap every thing up. I also kinda made a banner. I hope it's suitable. I have a pic set as well (sort of like a mood board) that I edited to go along with this. I'll probably post that on tumblr later if anyone is interested.
> 
> I'm really nervous about the ending because I don't feel like it's anything huge or surprising. It's more just settling them in and allowing them to adjust. I hope that's satisfactory. If not, feel free to rage at me. I can handle it. Probably.

  
  


Dean spends the week after Sam leaves much like he spent the first day without him. Just going through the motions. He works and he eats and he sleeps. Ellen and Jo keep looking at him like he’s on the verge of throwing himself off a bridge somewhere and Nan fawns over him more than normal. He’s pretty sure that, by the third day, it’s obvious to all of them that something’s off. They know Sam didn’t leave to finish his road trip. But Dean can’t bring himself to tell them why he left.

So, naturally, they all assume Dean got cold feet and backed out. They assume Dean sent him away. And, the truth is, they aren’t far off. And yeah, in any other situation it might be because Dean wasn’t ready for or interested in a relationship. But, the kick in the balls is, this time he was. He was totally on board and would have been ready to consider settling down with Sam. Hell, he _was_ considering it.

Several times, he almost lets the cat out of the bag. Mostly to Jo because she keeps giving him shit over the whole thing. But every time he comes close, he snaps his mouth shut and walks away. And yeah, part of it is embarrassment. Who _wants_ to admit they unknowingly fell in love with a sibling? Who finds it easy to admit they knowingly slept with said sibling? But there’s a part of it that isn’t embarrassment as much as it is self-preservation, that tiny voice in his brain that keeps reminding him that Sam can’t come back – not like Dean wants him to – if anyone knows.

So he just sort of exists in that first week. Sam calls, of course. And he texts. But it’s all very stilted and formal. It feels distant. And even, at times, awkward. Dean doesn’t know how to make it better. Not with Sam so far away. Not with the barriers he put in place. He doesn’t know how to be Sam’s brother and he’s not really sure he wants to learn. And, from the way Sam’s stumbling around on his end, he’s feeling the same way.

On Wednesday night, John calls. He tells Dean he’s moving into his apartment over the weekend because they don’t feel he’s a big medical risk any longer. He says he’s feeling better and more determined. And he chews Dean out for letting Sam pay the remaining balance on his bill. Which is news to Dean and prompts a phone call to him as soon as John hangs up.

But it’s not Sam who answers his phone. It’s a very feminine voice and she sounds, from the get go, not impressed with Dean in the slightest. And when Dean asks to speak with Sam, she tells him that Sam is in the shower and can’t come to the phone. That’s all. She hangs up without even offering to take a message and Dean is left gripping his phone and staring at it in confusion.

Sam is in the shower. And there’s a chick there answering his phone. He processes that for several minutes and tries to convince himself not to do anything rash. But Sammy is _showering_ while a _girl_ answers his phone. Dean never would have described himself as a jealous or possessive person before he met Sam. But that feeling has tried to overtake him a time or two since the guy walked into his life. It’s terrifying and not at all rational. Sam is his brother and he should be thrilled if the guy’s getting laid.

Except he can’t stop thinking about how Sam was _in_ the shower with him just a few days ago. And he doesn’t want anyone else to be that close to him. He sits on his couch for almost thirty minutes just staring at his TV before he unlocks his phone again and pulls up Google. One quick search later, he has Sam’s address, thank Jesus for landlines sometimes still being a requirement for internet.

That little piece of information in hand, Dean makes a decision. God, he hates flying, but it’s a long ass drive and he doesn’t have the time to waste. Not if Sam is showering with some bimbo already. Another search and an online purchase and he’s packing his bag while he dials Jo’s number.

“You’re going to get on a plane? Willingly? Like, you bought the ticket and everything?” She asks, incredulously.

“Yes. And I need you to drive me to the airport. You can take me in the truck and use it while I’m gone.” He tosses in the offer of transportation for the next few days as incentive, but she knows he’s chasing after Sam so it’s probably not necessary.

“Ha! I’d have done it for free.”

Dean laughs and switches ears while he packs a toiletry bag, “And I’d have offered the Impala.”

She groans and he laughs.

“So, you’ll do it, then? My flight leaves in, like, less than two hours and it’s almost an hour drive to the airport.”

“I gotcha. Mom will watch Michael. You just come get me so I can take you to go get your man.”

“Be there in like, fifteen minutes.”

Dean hangs up and then double checks his suitcase. Once he’s sure he’s got everything, he’s on his way. Once he gets to Ellen’s, he runs in to let her know that he’ll be back on Sunday afternoon. Well, with any luck Sam won’t send him home before then anyway. She shoos him right out the door and tells him to stay as long as he wants.

Dean ends up driving to the airport while Jo sits shotgun gushing over his big romantic gesture. He lets her go on and on for most of the ride, but when she asks what made him decide to get on a plane (because she knows how much he hates flying), he has to tell her the truth. He’s not being romantic. He’s letting his green eyed monster take control.

“Some chick answered his phone.”

She’s silent for several long seconds and then she bursts out laughing. And doesn’t stop for at least a mile. 

“You’re flying all the way to California because a girl answered his phone?”

Dean clenches his jaw and nods. Yes, he knows how stupid it is. Yes, he knows she was probably just a friend or maybe one of his roommates. And even if she _was_ getting ready to join Sam in the shower, Dean has no claim over him. He knows he’s being ridiculously impulsive. But, he’s flying to California to pursue a romantic relationship with his brother. Impulsive is the only way he knows how to do this. If he waits, he’ll talk himself out of it. And he’s tired of being reasonable about this.

“He was in the shower, Jo. And she just… she answered his phone like… I don’t know.”

Something in his voice must sober her, because Jo isn’t laughing anymore and he can feel her eyes burning into the side of his face.

“You’re really upset. Do you really think he’s cheating on you? I know it’s early and all, but he seems really into you.”

“He was.”

“Was? Oh no. Dean. I mean, I knew you had a hand in him leaving. But I didn’t think you broke things off with him. I thought you just got overwhelmed and needed to adjust. God, the way you looked at him, Dean.”

Dean sighs and shakes his head, “There were reasons. I didn’t want to. But…”

“Reasons? So, let me get this straight, there were reasons good enough to send him home when he didn’t want to go and you didn’t want him to leave? But those reasons aren’t enough to keep you from flying half way across the country to get him back?”

“I guess not.”

It should be enough to keep him from doing this. It’s a pretty big roadblock. But, faced with even a small possibility of losing Sam to someone else? Thinking about seeing Sam smiling and happy with someone else? Having to watch Sam marry someone else? Suddenly it doesn’t seem so immovable. Suddenly, he’s prepared to do whatever he needs to so they can be together. He’s not sure what any of this is going to mean for them. If he’s going to have to uproot and move or if Sam will or what. But Sam’s still got a year’s worth of school left. So he guesses they’ll establish some kind of vague plan this weekend – if Dean lets him out of bed long enough – and then do the long distance thing until next summer. And that should give Dean time to get used to the weirdness he still feels when he thinks too hard about everything. It should also give them time to work our any kinks in whatever game plan they settle on.

“Good. Unless he’s like, a serial killer or something, I can’t think of any reason good enough to keep the two of you apart. Just make sure he knows we’re not giving you up without a fight. So he’ll just have to move to Kansas.”

Dean chuckles and nods his agreement. He supposes he’s open to moving. He’d just rather not. He has his whole ragtag family there and the shop. But really it’s whatever he and Sammy decide together in the end. Hopefully together.

Jo drops him off at the airport, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek and good luck wishes. He makes it through security, checks his luggage, and then thumbs through his phone while he’s boarding. It helps distract him from the fact that he’s getting on a fucking plane. He’s got a text from Sam that he replies to very vaguely.

_Hey, you called?_

_No big. Talk tomorrow._

Yeah, he could let Sam know he’s coming. But this just feels right, somehow. Planning it, even to the extent of confirming with Sam, would take some of the spontaneity out of it. This, jumping on a plane in the middle of the night and rushing to the man he loves feels like a grand gesture. Something huge and real. Something almost tangible. It wouldn’t feel like such a leap if he let Sam in on the plan. And something tells him Sam will appreciate that leap.

The flight is… interesting. Dean spends most of it gripping the armrest of his aisle seat – because no fucking way did he want to look out the window. He stares straight ahead and tries to convince himself that he’s just sitting on his couch at home. There’s a bit of turbulence, and it sets him on edge every time. But they touchdown all in one piece and Dean is finally able to breathe easy once he’s back on solid ground almost ten hours after boarding.

The only thing is, it’s now almost eight in the morning and he hasn’t slept at all, too nervous to do much more than blink while they were in the air. He knows he should get a room somewhere and rest before going to find Sam. He should. Really. But he keeps hearing that girl’s voice and picturing her all over Sam’s soapy, naked body and he knows sleep won’t come easy for him until he’s seen Sam. So he grabs his suitcase from baggage claim and finds a taxi.

The drive is just under an hour, and he spends it trying to decide what he’s going to say. Because, ‘I flew all this way because a girl answered your phone’ doesn’t seem like the best opener. Especially when he knows that two of Sam’s roommates are girls. And okay, so he looks like a jealous asshole just now. But he’s not like, going to rage or anything if Sam did have a girl in the shower with him. Sam’s free to do that at the moment. It’s just, he wants to make sure Sam understands that from _now on_ that’s not acceptable. And well, he also needs to give Sam crap about paying the bill off for John’s treatment. Maybe he should open with that. But it’s a flimsy excuse and Sam will see right through it.

He’s no closer to figuring it out when the taxi pulls up in front of a small house in a residential area of Palo Alto. He pays the driver and hoists his suitcase up out of the floorboard of the car. And then he’s left standing on the street staring up at the slim, two story house. 

When he knocks on the door he’s still not sure what the hell he’s going to say. And he’s even more speechless when the door swings open and a cute little blonde is standing on the other side. In nothing but a short t-shirt and a pair of boyshorts. And holy fucking crap is she not curvy in all the right places. She’s fucking gorgeous with her long, curly hair and her bright blue eyes. If this is shower girl, Dean’s not sure he stands a chance.

“I… um…” He stops, catching sight of an Asian kid sitting at the bar just inside the door. He’s eating a bagel and staring at Dean curiously. When Dean looks back at the girl, she’s arching an eyebrow and smirking, like she knows he was caught off guard by her answering the door in her underwear and she likes it.

“Jess, are you teasing the mailman again?” And that’s Sam’s voice coming from somewhere around the corner, the kitchen maybe, and Dean’s heart starts beating even harder. Suddenly the total babe in front of him is irrelevant.

“Oh no, he’s prettier than the mailman,” she tosses back over her shoulder, and then to Dean, “Whatcha need, honey?” It’s flirtatious, but in an impersonal sort of way. Like it’s personality more than interest in him that is driving it. One thing’s for sure though. This isn’t the girl who answered Sam’s phone.

Not sure really what to say, Dean just replies with, “Sam,” still feeling a little dumbstruck at the knowledge that he flew all this way to see Sam and he’s just around the corner. From the looks of it probably in the Asian guy’s line of sight.

“What?” Dean hears from that vicinity and the tone tells him that Sam is shocked and disbelieving. He definitely recognizes Dean’s voice. And that’s confirmed in less than five seconds when Sam rounds the bar clutching a dishtowel, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He freezes the second his eyes land on Dean, mouth hanging open. He takes in the fact that Dean has a suitcase sitting next to his feet and then he smiles and unsticks his feet from the floor. He drops the towel he’s holding as he strides forward, covering the distance between them in just a few steps, and then Dean is being pulled into his arms, tight against his broad chest.

His bare, broad chest because he’s still in a pair of pajama pants with no shirt. Dean keeps his hands in respectable places though, just around the middle of Sam’s back, when he hugs him. He doesn’t know if Sam has told his roommates about him or what he might have revealed. But he gets part of that answer when the girl – Jess, apparently – whistles from beside them.

“ _This_ is _the_ Dean? The one you’ve been-”

But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Sam pulls away then and cuts in sharply, “Yes. This is _the_ Dean. Dean, two of my roommates, Jess, she’s the nosy flirt, and Kevin, he’s our resident brainiac. Charlie’s here too, but I don’t think she’s awake yet. She’s our computer whiz.”

Sam steps all the way back then, and ushers Dean inside, grabbing his suitcase and sliding it off to the side next to the couch separating what appears to be a living area from a walk way that divides it and the kitchen. There’s a staircase off to the right and a short hallway directly across from the front door. It’s definitely a small place, but it looks like it boasts at least four bedrooms. Maybe a utility room too, judging by the door to the left in the kitchen.

“I prefer hacker. Sounds more devious,” Dean hears float from down the hall. And that is the voice. She’s the one who answered Sam’s phone. Charlie.

“More likely to get you in trouble,” Kevin mumbles around a mouthful of bagel and Jess rolls her eyes.

“Come on, Tran. Live a little.” Jess gives him an impromptu noogie and he’s still scowling and shuffling his hair around when she disappears up the stairs.

All the while, Sam is just standing there, staring at him. And Dean doesn’t know what to say. And it’s really fucking awkward right up until a cute little redhead pops out of one of the rooms down the hall. She’s wearing rainbow pajamas and she’s wielding a toothbrush and grinning from ear to ear. And, foamy mouth and all, she walks right up and pulls Dean into a hug.

“It’s good to finally meet you. Officially anyway. I think we talked on the phone last night.” She walks around the bar as she’s speaking and stops only long enough to spit into the kitchen sink. “Unless Sam has some other Dean in his contacts list. I think he’d have told me though. I didn’t know you were coming. You should have said something! I guess I didn’t really give you a chance though, huh? I was kind of in a hurry. But you can blame Jess for that. She was rushing me out the door. She thinks she has to have a wingman – woman, whatever – every time she goes-”

“Charlie,” Sam cuts in, mouth pulled sideways in a crooked grin as he looks between Charlie and Dean, almost as if he’s apologizing for Charlie’s rambling. “Normal people stop to breathe once in a while.”

Dean likes her. Just like that. He came all this way because he was terrified Sam had moved on and was seeing someone else only to find that’s probably not the case and that she’s frickin’ adorable.

“Sorry. I’ll just…” She points her toothbrush toward the hallway and then, with a knowing smile and a thumbs up aimed at Sam, she disappears into a room to the left.

“So,” Sam says, rubbing his hands together, still looking at Dean like he can’t decide whether he should be happy he’s here or scared. Dean smiles, hoping to put him at ease. “Um. How long are you in town? You can bunk with me, of course. I actually have a trundle bed, so that’s not a problem.”

“I could get a room,” Dean offers but Sam shakes his head and picks Dean’s suitcase up again, motioning for Dean to follow him.

Sam leads him into the room across from the one Charlie went into and the second the door shuts behind them, Dean’s reaching for him. His trembling hand finds Sam’s waist and pulls, urging him to turn around. And he does. So easily. But he meets Dean’s gaze tentatively. Like he’s not sure why Dean’s here or what it means or what he’s allowed to have. But he still wants. Dean can see it so clearly in his eyes.

And when Dean presses in for a kiss, Sam gives it up so sweetly, a little ragged moan sounding from deep in his throat. He kisses Dean softly at first, unsure of where he should put his hands. Like they didn’t spend a whole night and morning with their hands all over each other. It’s cute. And probably also sad because Dean knows his rejection planted this awkwardness between them. But he has every intention of dissolving it. 

He pushes forward, sucking at Sam’s bottom lip as he guides him back to the bed against the far wall. And when the back of Sam’s legs hit it, he sits, tugging Dean with him. Dean ends up straddling Sam’s lap, knees digging into the mattress on either side of Sam’s thighs and his boots hanging off the edge. He drags his hands up Sam’s body, reveling in the way his flesh quivers under the touch. Cupping Sam’s face, he pulls back slightly and rests their foreheads together.

“Missed you so goddamn much,” He whispers fiercely and Sam nods as much as he can with Dean holding his head. “Do they know about me? About us?” Dean asks, jerking his shoulder toward the kitchen to indicate Sam’s roommates.

“No. I mean, they know how I feel about you. But they don’t know you’re my br-”

“Don’t say it,” Dean says quickly and Sam huffs.

“Why? It’s who we _are_ , Dean. We can’t do this and not acknowledge it. I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but do you want everyone else to know? Because that seems like something we should probably keep to ourselves. At least one aspect of this, right? No one can have the whole truth about us.”

“Just John,” Sam says and then, wincing, “and Charlie. Shit. Charlie knows. Sorry. I should have told you that sooner probably. But in my defense I didn’t know you’d be meeting her so soon. She’s cool with it though. Why _are_ you here anyway?”

“Less talking,” Dean says with a smile, “More kissing.”

It should probably worry him, the Charlie thing. Her knowing about them. But it really doesn’t. She didn’t seem disapproving and she’s obviously kept it to herself. So maybe it’s okay.

Sam does kiss him some more. He does nothing but for what feels like forever. Dean’s mouth is starting to ache by the time Sam breaks away. But Dean’s not complaining. They’ve spent way too much time not doing this he thinks.

“You’re trying to distract me. Why are you here?”

Dean slides his arms up and crosses them behind Sam’s neck, holding him more firmly in place while he tries to decide which way to go with this. Another distraction seems like the best course of action.

“You paid for Dad’s treatment. He called last night bitching me out about it.”

“So? I told you I was going to. But that’s not why you came. Why’d you come, Dean?” There’s a little desperation seeping into Sam’s voice now. Like the only thing that matters to him in this moment is Dean’s motivation. Like it’ll either make them or break them. So Dean steels himself and tells the truth.

“Charlie answered your phone. But I didn’t know it was Charlie. So some chick answered your phone and you were showering. It was… troubling.”

Sam leans back a little, a look of sheer confusion on his face. “Last night? So you, what, booked the next flight out? You would’ve about had to in order to get here so quick. Charlie answered my phone and you were so… angry? Or jealous? That you flew all the way here? And how’d you know where I live?”

“You use a landline – for your internet I guess – and it’s in your name. It wasn’t hard to find. And I wasn’t angry. Jealous, yeah. Scared to fucking death, yeah. But not angry.” Dean is not above begging if this starts to go south. But Sam just grins a little and shakes his head.

“Charlie’s a lesbian, just so you know. She’s not even the slightest bit interested in me.”

“Good,” Dean says, pecking Sam on the lips once before levering himself off Sam’s lap, “because I like her. Look, I don’t know what we’re going to do about all of this. But I know I handled shit the right way before and it hasn’t actually felt right at all. So we’re going to do it your way –the wrong way by everyone else’s standards – and see what happens.”

Dean offers Sam a hand and helps him stand. “Please tell me you have some cereal or some eggs or something. I’m starving and I’m exhausted.”

“You didn’t sleep on the flight?”

“Hell no. If that bird starts to go down, I want to be fully prepared. Can’t do that if I’m sleeping.”

Sam chuckles and pushes him gently toward the door. “Alright, let’s get some food in you and then we’ll lie down for a while.”

“We?”

Sam nods and he’s smiling softly when Dean turns to press a quick kiss to his shoulder before they open the door.

“Yeah. We.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Two days in a row. But, honestly, as much fun as this has been, and as proud of myself as I am for finishing it, I'm ready to wrap it up. This idea has been sitting on my hard drive and in my head for years. It's taken several different shapes and offered the promise of several different twists that I never allowed it to take, or let it take and then changed my mind and rewrote bits. But this is where we've ended up. I hope I've not left any huge loose ends (other than the dreams, but despite not going where I intended with that in the beginning, I don't think they're too out of place). And if I have, let me know.
> 
> The epilogue will be up sometime in the next week. Maybe in a few days or maybe not until Tuesday. But, this is it, guys. Aside from the 'and they lived happily ever after' of the epilogue, our story is pretty much over.

  
  


Dean is warm against his side, one arm slung over Sam’s waist and the other dangling off the side of the bed. His head is resting on Sam’s arm and his lips are pressed to Sam’s bicep. Every breath he releases blows over Sam’s armpit and tickles the hairs there. But Sam doesn’t dare move. They’ve pushed his full size bed and the trundle together and it’s not quite big enough for them. Which, in Sam’s opinion, is just the perfect size. It keeps Dean close and lets Sam breathe him in while he sleeps. It makes this feel more real.

And Sam’s having a lot of trouble believing this is really real. He’s only been home about a week and he’s spent most of that time holed up in Charlie’s room moping. He’s cried more this past week than he has since his mom died. And he’d expected this to last for a while. So he can’t believe Dean’s given in so quickly. Hell, he flew all the way here just because he was worried Sam was seeing someone. It just doesn’t seem like something that could happen to him. Every time he starts to think that, he turns and kisses Dean’s forehead and then smiles when he wiggles and grumbles in his sleep. 

Like Dean, he’s not sure what they’re going to do or what their relationship will look like once they’ve figured it out, but Sam’s willing to accept whatever he has to. Because he’s lived the alternative and even a week of it was too much.

Dean sleeps half of the day and by the time he starts to stir, Sam’s stomach is growling. He hasn’t slept at all himself, preferring instead to watch over Dean. And when Dean finally opens his eyes, blinking up at Sam and smiling, Sam pulls him closer. Dean allows himself to be rearranged over Sam’s chest and Sam gasps when Dean latches on to his still exposed collarbone and sucks, teeth scraping slightly over the skin.

He pulls off with a satisfied smirk and Sam doesn’t doubt he’ll soon have a spectacularly dark bruise marking him as Dean’s. Sam doesn’t complain. Instead, he guides Dean to the other side and encourages the same treatment. After Sam is sufficiently branded, or at least for the moment, Dean nips playfully at a nipple before he untangles himself from Sam’s grip.

“Bathroom? And then maybe some lunch,” Dean says, scrubbing his hands over his face before he stands and stretches. And Sam just enjoys the view, Dean’s muscular arms and his strong back, obvious even through his t-shirt, and those slightly bowed legs. When Sam works his way back up to Dean’s face, he’s grinning and arching an eyebrow and Sam just wants to pull him back into the bed.

He doesn’t though. He shows Dean to the bathroom. Then Sam gets dressed and they go out for lunch. They hold hands and they sit on the same side of the booth at the pizza joint Sam takes them to – despite it being crowded. And, on the walk back, Dean lets Sam throw an arm over his shoulders and hold him close and Sam feels truly happy for the first time in a long time.

When they get back, Kevin and Charlie are both still home and they spend the afternoon watching movies. Dean and Charlie take right up with each other and Sam is thrilled. There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing the two people he loves the most getting along.

After they’ve sat through all three of the original Star Wars movies, Sam is yawning almost non-stop and Dean is already looking a little on the tired side as well. So Sam pulls Dean up as he’s telling Kevin goodnight. He kisses the top of Charlie’s head and smiles when Dean does the same. Charlie grins at the easy affection and while Sam knows she’s still worried about how this is all going to work out for them, he knows Dean scored major brownie points when he showed up out of the blue like this. He sort of can’t wait to tell her it’s because of her. She’s going to find that hilarious.

They take turns brushing their teeth and Dean grumbles about needing a shower, but Sam convinces him to wait until in the morning. Once they’re stripped to their boxers, Sam switches the light off and climbs onto the bed, scooting all the way to the inside to leave room for Dean.

“You know, when we move in together, we’re going to have to get a king sized bed.”

Dean wiggles under the covers, but when he reaches for Sam, Sam just catches his hand instead of letting Dean pull him in. He threads his fingers through Dean’s and then tugs it up to his mouth. Stalling, so that he can gather his thoughts – because fuck, Dean just said they’re going to move in together – he kisses the back of Dean’s hand and then levers himself up on his elbow.

Dean’s lying on his back with his free arm under his head and the other one still holding Sam’s hand. He’s smiling softly and he’s almost ethereal in the soft glow of the street light filtering through the window. He's looking up at Sam with the most hopeful but fucking terrified expression on his face and Sam decides to make this as easy as possible on both of them and be as straightforward as he can.

“Where? When? Because I have to finish school. And you have the shop. How do you see this going?”

“Are you trying to back out on me now, Sammy?”

Sam shakes his head quickly, leaning over to drop a reassuring kiss to Dean’s lips. “God no. I’m just not sure what it is you’re wanting. I thought maybe just a test run. But you’re talking about moving in together and that doesn’t seem like a trial. Not when it means one of us has to move halfway across the country.”

“What? Did my flying out in the middle of the night all the way from Kansas seem like something I’d do for a test run?” Dean doesn’t sound angry, and his gaze is still soft and serious.

“Not really. But you were so sure last week that we couldn’t do this. And now you’re insisting we need to. I’m worried you let your jealousy get the best of you and you’re still not sure about it all.”

“Oh,” Dean says, his eyes shifting to stare at the ceiling like looking at Sam is just too much at the moment, “it’s still fucking scary. I’m still not sure it’s actually going to work. I don’t know how Dad’s going to react. Or if he’ll agree to keep everything secret. But I know we have to try.”

Sam nods at that. Now he actually has the confidence he was pretending to have before. If Dean wants to do this, then Sam will make sure nothing and no one stands in their way.

“Alright. Well, it just makes more sense for me to move. But I can’t do that until next summer.”

“So we’ll do the long distance thing until them,” Dean says with a shrug. He uses their joined hands to pull Sam down to lie next to him and then he rolls over so they’re face to face. “Can you do that?”

“Yeah. Of course. We can call and text. And maybe even Skype or FaceTime sometimes. And I’m going to be so busy this year that it’ll go by really fast anyway.” Sam doesn’t think it’s going to be easy by any means, but he’s sure they can do it.

“And you can come back when you have breaks?”

“Yeah. Of course. Winter and spring breaks I’m all yours.”

Dean smiles, but it’s crooked and his tongue darts out to play over his bottom lip before he pulls it between his teeth. Sam’s heart rate doubles and he feels his own mouth stretching to match Dean’s grin.

“You’re all mine now too, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes but nods and reaches out to pull Dean closer.

“Good, because I _really_ wanna blow you.”

Sam gasps at the surge of adrenaline Dean’s words cause and then moans softly when Dean hovers over him long enough to nip at his lips just once before he works his way down Sam’s body. He spends what feels like forever laying claim to Sam’s chest and abs again, sucking and kissing and biting until Sam’s scared he’s going to wake his roommates with his groans and whimpers. But god, it’s good.

Before, when Dean had done this, it had been tinged with sadness and loss. But this time it just feels possessive in the very best of ways. There’s hope and love and excitement and Sam is thrumming with it by the time Dean’s teeth scrape across his hipbones while his hands pull Sam’s pajama pants back. He feels the head of his cock, slick with precome, poke against the underside of Dean’s chin just before Dean tilts his head and swallows him down.

In the dim light, Sam can just make out the spit shine on Dean’s lips as he slides up and down Sam’s length. But Dean’s eyes glow so brightly that they’re all Sam can focus on. And there’s something about holding eye contact with Dean as he works up and down Sam’s cock. Something hot, yeah, but also calming. Which is odd because with every stroke of Dean’s lips and tongue, Sam is closer and closer to coming. But Dean’s eyes are reassuring. Promising that this isn’t the end. Not anymore.

Sam comes in minutes, hands digging into Dean’s shoulder and scalp, and Dean swallows every drop, pulling off only when Sam starts to tremble at the feel of Dean’s tongue lapping at his sensitive head. And Sam wants to return the favor. Desperately. But Dean lifts up and gets a hand around himself and four strokes later he’s coming over Sam’s belly, come striping from his hipbone all the way to his navel.

Dean fishes his shirt off the floor and quickly wipes Sam clean and then he slots right up against Sam’s side. He presses one gentle kiss to Sam’s jaw and whispers, “Night, Sammy,” and then he’s snoring, still jet lagged from his flight. This time, Sam joins him in sleep.

_It’s dark, the only illumination spilling through dense trees and creating a speckled array of splotches of light over the ground beneath their feet. It’ quiet, the only sound the huff of their labored breathing as they move stealthily through the forest. And the only warmth Sam can find is that of his brother’s body at his back._

_It’s perfect. There’s evil out there, Sam knows. They’re actively seeking it out, even. But Sam isn’t scared. Not when he knows who has his back. Not when he can reach back and touch Dean’s arm, solid and real, just inches behind him. Whatever they find, whatever it is they have to face out here, they’ll do it together._

*~*~*

Dean makes Sam show him all the places he likes to hang out. The bars and the restaurants and even the library. They watch movies and make out on the couch (and get caught by all of Sam’s roommates). They sleep in Sam’s bed at night, quietly exploring and enjoying each other. And the whole time, Dean does his best to forget Sam is his brother. Mostly he succeeds.

But, on Saturday afternoon, while Dean has Sam pinned to the bed – they finally have the house to themselves for a few hours – mapping every inch of his gorgeous back with lips and tongue, his phone rings. He wants to ignore it, he really does, but it could be an emergency. And when he leans over to see the ominous _Dad_ flashing on the screen, he quickly untangles himself from Sam and scrambles to fasten his jeans.

He feels like he just got caught, well, having sex with his little brother. And he can’t even look at Sam as he slides to the edge of the bed and answers his phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dean.” John’s voice is raspy, but not as heavy as it’s always been. Even over the phone Dean can tell a difference between a truly sober John and a drunken one.

“Hey,” Dean replies, shaking Sam’s hand off when he places it on Dean’s shoulder. He’s not trying to rebuff Sam, but talking to John sets him on edge and makes him feel guilty.

“Did you talk to Sam about the money?”

“Kind of. Yeah. He uh… he just wants to make sure we’re alright, you know?”

“Did you tell him we’ll pay every penny back?”

And Sam, who must be hearing John’s half of the conversation, pipes in with, “Tell him not to worry about it.”

John is silent for several long seconds while Dean holds his breath. And then, “He’s back? I thought he went home.”

Dean feels Sam go completely still where he’s lying on his side now curled up behind Dean. And he can almost hear the apology Sam wants to give him even if Sam isn’t saying a word. But Dean braces himself and figures this is as good a time as any. Maybe better even because they’re several states apart. If John explodes they’re a safe distance away.

“He did. I flew out to see him. Been here since Thursday morning.”

There’s silence again but this time it goes on so long that Dean starts to get uncomfortable and he’s floundering, trying to decide what to say or how much to reveal when Sam huffs and holds his hand out for the phone. And Dean just… gives it to him.

“Look,” Sam starts, much more confident than Dean can imagine being given the circumstances. When he thought he was just seeing someone of whom John didn’t approve, it was one thing. But this? Admitting to his dad that he’s fucking his brother and doesn’t intend to stop? That’s not something Dean knows how to do. Especially not to John. 

“He’s here and we all know why he’s here. And that’s going to be a regular arrangement. So we’d appreciate if you’d keep certain things under wraps.”

“What? The fact that he’s your goddamn brother?” Dean hears it loud and clear despite the fact that the phone is plastered to Sam’s ear. But Sam doesn’t cringe like Dean does. Instead he sits up, back ramrod straight, as he reaches out with his free hand to massage soothingly at Dean’s waist.

“Yep.” And that’s all he says. He doesn’t defend them or trying to put blame on John like Dean might have done – might still do. He just confirms and waits. Seemingly totally unaffected by the fact that he’s telling their dad they’re going to carry on an incestuous relationship and need him to be complicit in keeping it a secret.

“I guess you won,” is what John finally says and he sounds defeated and resigned. It hurts Dean to hear, but at the same time, his heart leaps.

“If you can just play along, we both win. I’m not taking him away from you.”

“I don’t like it. I’m never going to like it. But I’ve fucked up enough to last a life time with the two of you and I guess I should just be thankful you’re not leaving me to rot. Thanks, by the way,” he says as an afterthought, but Dean’s still hung on the fact that John isn’t fighting them.

“You’re welcome.” Sam holds the phone out and Dean’s hesitant to take it. But Sam pretty much makes him.

“So, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Probably early enough to visit if you need me to bring you anything for your apartment.”

John sighs softly and Dean can almost see him shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dean. I should have-”

“At some point, we’re going to do this,” Dean cuts in, “but not right now. And don’t be sorry about how things turned out with Sam. I’m not. This is… god, not _right_ maybe, but right for us anyway. Now, do you need anything?”

John lists a few things he’s running low on and a few things his apartment needs (a toaster being at the top of his wish list) and Dean jots it all down on a piece of paper Sam finds on his desk. And if he gets lost for a minute admiring the plump globes of Sam’s ass or the way his cock is still standing hard against his stomach as Sam walks naked across the room, that’s not really his fault. Sam’s too attractive for his own good.

Dean spends the rest of his final afternoon with Sam, at least until winter, naked in bed with him. They kiss and they laugh and they hold hands. And they fuck. And if it feels a like a little more than just that, Dean tucks that away like a precious gem. Or a promise of the future he hopes they can actually have.

Dean’s flight leaves at six the next morning, and so they get up before four. They, once again, shower together, but this time Sam drops to his knees and sucks Dean off, squinting up into the spray of water to hold Dean’s gaze the entire time. And Dean lets his fingers tangle in Sam’s wet hair. Dean presses Sam back against the wall as soon as Sam stands back up and gets him off with a hand slick with conditioner.

They eat breakfast at Sam’s bar, a couple of bowls of cereal, side by side. And when it’s almost time to go, when they can’t afford to stall any longer, Sam wastes almost five minutes kissing Dean on the couch. And Dean just lets him because it’s going to be a while before they get to have this again.

He does make it to the airport on time, but it’s a close call. Sam spends a few more minutes clinging to Dean in the lobby before he releases him with a sigh when Dean insists he really does need to catch his flight.

They make tentative plans for Dean to visit at Thanksgiving since Sam won’t really have time to fly out. And Sam promises to buy a ticket for winter break as soon as he gets back. And, just before Dean makes his way to security, leaving his brother behind, he makes Sam swear he’s not going to be showering with anyone else. Sam laughs but readily agrees and then sends Dean off after one more quick kiss.

By the time he’s boarding his flight, he’s got a couple texts from Sam. The first is innocent and sweet.

_Miss you already._

The second makes Dean blush and quickly hide his phone display so no unsuspecting strangers are exposed to (or get the pleasure of seeing) Sam’s hard cock peeking out the fly of his jeans. Dean figures he must have stopped in the restroom before leaving the airport to take that.

He takes another quick look once he’s seated and then taps out a reply.

_Looks like you miss me a lot._

_I do. Come back. I haven’t left yet. Not too late._

Dean sighs and lets his head rest against the seat for several seconds. This is not going to be easy. He’s never really done the long distance thing before. Dean’s a huge proponent of instant gratification. But he’s not really done the relationship thing at all since middle school. So maybe he can adapt. Honestly, he goes months sometimes without hooking up with anyone, so it shouldn’t be that difficult. Still though, Sam’s offer is so tempting.

He could find some kind of part time job here and just shack up with Sammy until he graduates. And he wouldn’t have to go back to his empty house. He wouldn’t have to face John.

_Thanksgiving is not that far away._

As much as he wishes he could, Dean can’t run from his responsibilities and he’s more than just Sam’s… whatever they are. There are people who depend on him at home. Not just his dad, but Jo and Michael too.

_I still have a few weeks before school starts back._

Dean huffs out a laugh and buckles his seatbelt.

_You need to get ready to start back. And we’re getting ready to take off. Text you when I land._

He only gets a frowny face and a heart in reply and he shuts his phone off.

~*~*~

Sam doesn’t adjust well to life without Dean, which is odd because most of his life has been life without Dean. Except now Dean is there, unwittingly teasing Sam with what they could have if he hadn’t decided to stay and finish out his last year. But he gets by on their daily texts and nightly phone calls. And soon enough, when the naughty texts and the heavy breathing and dirty encouragement still leaves them wanting, they turn to Skype. And, being on top of or under Dean when he does that full body roll is fucking amazing. But watching it on screen, like his own personal porn, has its appeal as well.

He visits for Thanksgiving, just like he promised and aside from the dinner they all put together in the small kitchen of his shared house, they spend most of their time locked in Sam’s room. Very few clothes are involved, but there’s miles of sweaty skin and plenty of hushed moans. It quickly turns into Sam’s favorite Thanksgiving ever. And he’s sad to see Dean go, but they’re less than a month away from Sam’s winter break, so the parting isn’t nearly as sad this time.

John calls too, sometimes. The first time it happens, Sam expects the man to chew him out or just act shitty in general because, well, Dean. But he doesn’t. He tells Sam how his treatment is going – well – and that he’s working his way through his steps. He’s a little frustrated by the religious aspect of it all but he found an atheistic version online and he’s following that instead. And apparently, he’s hit the apologize speed bump on his road to recovery.

He does. And Sam listens. Actually excuses himself from the living room where Kevin and Charlie are holding some sort of video game tournament and shuts himself up in his room. John’s apology includes everything from disappearing before he was born to keeping Dean away from him to not being there for him when his mom was dying. It’s heartfelt and there are tears shed on both ends, though neither one of them will likely ever admit to it. It still feels like too little too late, but Sam offers his forgiveness anyway. He thinks they both probably know it’s a little hollow, but John accepts. Sam doubts they’ll ever have a good relationship. But, he still thinks they can at least be civil, for Dean’s sake if nothing else. After all, they’re soon going to be residing in the same town, if not the same house.

Sam uses one of John’s subsequent calls to find out just where he would need to go to order whatever it is that Dean needs to finish the interior of his car. That’s been the theme of their last few phone calls, Dean going on and on about having his baby done before Sam graduates. And Sam wants to make sure he meets his goal. Plus it’ll be an awesome Christmas present. Sam meets no resistance from John. He tells him exactly what Dean needs and gives him a few ideas of where he might find it. On a whim Sam makes a note to talk to Dean about what he might get for John. Nothing big and grand, of course. But maybe something to say, ‘Thanks for not telling everyone I’m fucking my brother.’

Dean seems a little surprised to find out that Sam and John are talking some and he’s even more shocked that Sam wants to get him something for Christmas. But he throws out some ideas anyway. And Sam finally settles on a couple of Zeppelin vinyls when Dean mentions he’s getting him a record player. Dean also helps him come up with some gift ideas for Jo, Michael, Ellen, and Nan. He debates on getting something for Bobby too, but he hardly knows the man so he decides against it this year. 

Christmas break goes great. Dean is there to pick Sam up when he lands and there’s some serious making out at baggage claim. And when they get back to Dean’s, John’s home but he looks better. He’s not as ragged and he’s definitely more coherent. He greets Sam with a handshake while Dean stands off to the side, obviously ready to intervene if things go south. They don’t. John offers him the guest room upstairs – the one next door to Dean – and Dean shoots him a look that says it’s all for show. John knows they’re going to share. But Sam doubts he ever ventures up the stairs so it’s not going to matter.

Jo and Michael show up just a few hours after Sam gets settled in and Sam gets hugs from both of them, but Michael is bouncing from foot to foot waiting for him to let of Jo so he can shove his new Norse mythology book into Sam’s hands. And the rest of the afternoon is spent pouring over it with the kid. Which is no hardship for Sam since it’s always been something that fascinates him. Though he’s always leaned more toward Greek than Norse. It’s not nearly as dark and dire. But he figures he’ll have time to introduce the kid to the Greek gods this summer.

The most interesting discovery he makes over winter break, though, comes in the form of Ellen Harvelle bringing all of them dinner the second night he’s there. She doesn’t exactly look at John with hearts in her eyes, she too damn sharp for that. Sam can tell that, when she looks at him, she doesn’t see what she wants him to be, like she might have done before life smashed her rose colored glasses. When she looks at him, she sees him for exactly who he is, warts and all. And John looks at her like she hung the fucking moon. Sam wonders if it’s always been that way and he just didn’t see it before. That’s a possibility given how sick John was the last time he saw them together. But he doesn’t think so. There’s something new about it all. Something really fresh. 

When he mentions it to Dean, he’s confused at first but he watches them over the next few days and eventually concedes that Sam might be on to something. He doesn’t seem disappointed. In fact, Sam notices Dean watching them hopefully after he sees it. Though he’s still not convinced there’s anything actually going on between them outside of longing glances.

Dean is thrilled when Sam’s gift to him arrives two days before Christmas. Sam had wanted to give it to him Christmas day, but the shipping had been a bitch to arrange and, well, where the fuck was he supposed to hide two bench seats? John had told him that Dean originally planned on getting the current seats reupholstered but that just hadn’t been a feasible thing for Sam to arrange given he’d need to get the car out of Dean’s care for a few days. So he’d just ordered the new seats. His savings really took a hit for that, but it’s worth it when he sees the look of pure joy on Dean’s face. And they spend, the three of them, the entire day before Christmas getting the old seats out, recarpeting the floorboards, and putting the new seats in.

Sam finds it so very easy to slip into little brother mode that he thinks that if he and Dean had gotten a better start, things could have been so much different for them. He feels strangely at home passing tools to Dean and rolling his eyes at John’s gruff orders. But then Dean will twist a certain way or spend too long nibbling at his bottom lip as he tightens a screw and Sam is lost in his desire. And then he can’t imagine any world in which he doesn’t have it so goddamn bad for his big brother. So maybe their current situation is preferable to the alternative. It’s messing with Dean enough as it is, and they’re only half brothers who were raised apart. Sam doesn’t want to think what this kind of tension might have done to Dean if they had grown up together.

That night, John tells them he has a date. He doesn’t say with whom and neither of them ask, but Dean shoots him a look across the expanse of couch separating them (too much, in Sam’s opinion, but they’re trying to be respectful of John’s understandable discomfort with the arrangement). And, sure enough, after John’s showered and dressed in a button down shirt tucked into his jeans with his hair gelled and so much cologne Sam can’t stand within three feet of him, Ellen lets herself in. She’s in jeans as well and Sam figures they’re probably just going to the diner or maybe to shoot some pool, but the nervous energy is palpable before they head out.

John doesn’t come home that night, despite Christmas being the next day. But that’s fine with Sam. That just means Dean gets to fuck him hard and fast and he doesn’t have to choke back his moans and groans. It also means that when Sam opens his present from Dean the next morning, John isn’t there to see the look of awe on his face before he loses control of his tearducts.

It’s simple really. Nothing fancy at all. Just a plain titanium band with an infinity symbol carved into the inside. But when Dean pulls its twin out of his own pocket, hands shaking as a blush spreads over his face, it’s all Sam can do to keep breathing. There’s no proposal or anything of the sort. It’s way too soon for that and well, they’re brothers.

But even as Sam thinks it, he’s slipping Dean’s ring on – ring finger, left hand, just where it belongs – and it feels like a promise of forever, marriage or no. When Dean’s jittery fingers slide his own on, it just feels right. Sam kisses him, deeply and thoroughly and they’re half naked by the time Dean’s phone rings a few minutes later.

It’s John and he wants them to come over to Ellen’s for breakfast and gifts. Dean agrees but the whole time he’s on the phone, he’s working his palm over Sam’s crotch and never breaking eye contact. Sam takes him right there on the living room floor under the scraggly tree they bought together just a few days before. And when Dean comes, he does it with Sam’s name on his lips and so much love in his eyes.

This time, when Sam says, “I love you,” Dean answers in kind.


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The end of the line for this story. I hope you've gotten some enjoyment out of it. Because I sure as hell have enjoyed writing. It's far from perfect. I'm sure there are many mistakes and maybe even cringe worthy lines. But it's finished and maybe, just maybe, it's satisfactory. I'm leaving you with the epilogue (though I left the dream explanation out as it just didn't really fit the story any more and I didn't want any confusion) and an image set I edited and posted to tumblr for this. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments. You guys have been what's made this so much fun for me. Feel free to yell at me if it didn't meet your expectations. But now I'm on to the next...

  
  


“I don’t know why we have to wear these fucking monkey suits,” Dean grumbles, leaning closer to the bathroom mirror as he attempts, one more time, to tie his damned bowtie straight.

Sam sighs but steps behind Dean, reaching up to bat Dean’s hands away and, magically, tie the bowtie perfectly on the first try. Then his hands drop to Dean’s hips and he uses the grip to pull Dean flush against his larger, harder body. God but that _never_ gets old and Dean moans his approval, as he arches a brow in invitation.

“No,” Sam replies to the unspoken question sternly and Dean’s had enough experience with Sam’s responsible adult voice enough in the past couple of years to know when arguing will be futile. “Ellen will kill us if we ruin her day. And I’m pretty sure you can take that literally because, man, her eyes were daring us to fuck with her when she made that announcement.”

Dean rolls his eyes and leans his head back against Sam’s shoulder. If he’s not going to get laid, the least Sam can do is hold him up for a few minutes, the fucking giant.

“But why do we have to do this? They could have just done this casual or gone to the courthouse.”

Sam smiles and it’s that soft expression Dean has come to learn spells all kinds of trouble for him because he _likes_ it and he’s willing to do just about anything to keep it there. “It’s romantic. Just think, a woman like Ellen, stonecold killer that she is, wants to wear a dress and stand under an archway of flowers and profess her undying love to your dad. Tell me that isn’t the sweetest thing ever.”

_Your_ dad is something Sam’s been saying since he moved back to town last summer. It’s just easier that way. No slip ups. No one asks questions. Dean would feel bad about denying Sam his claim on their dad, except it seems to work better for John and Sam this way too. They get along better as potential inlaws than father and son.

“The sweetest thing ever is the way your breath hitches when I curl my tongue just right while you’re spread out naked on your stomach begging me to hurry up and fuck you.”

Sam shakes his head and then lifts his gaze to the ceiling like he can’t believe he’s been burdened with the task of dealing with Dean. But he’s smiling and it’s still soft and beautiful so Dean doesn’t think he minds all that much.

“Okay, okay,” Dean concedes, “It’s sweet. It’s just that they’ve been living together for almost a year already. I just don’t see any reason for all the pomp and circumstance _now_. Ya know?”

John moved in with Ellen shortly after Jo moved out on her own with Michael. Which also, thankfully, happened to be just a couple of months after Sam moved in. And it’s been nice, having Sam all to himself, sharing a home and a bed and just building a life around and with each other.

“Just because you’re emotionally stunted doesn’t mean everyone is, Dean. Just let them have their day, alright?”

It’s cruel. It really is, because he knows what it does to Sam. But he just called Dean emotionally stunted so he deserves it really. Dean waits, staring right into the mirror until Sam finds his gaze, and then, with a perfectly straight face – because he might not say it often, but it’s the _truth_ \- he says, “I love you, Sammy.”

Dean practically hears Sam’s lungs struggling to work as soon as the words are out. And he feels the thud of Sam’s heart pounding against his back. The hands at Dean’s waist tighten and in a matter of seconds there’s a semi pressing into the swell of Dean’s ass. Emotionally stunted. Ha.

“You are an asshole, Dean Winchester.”

Dean just shrugs, letting a gentle smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. But I’m your asshole. So there’s that.”

“You’re a _pain_ in my ass from time to time.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I have a big-”

A knock at the bathroom door cuts him off but the look on Sam’s face says he knows where that was going and he’s not overly impressed. Yet, he’s _still_ smiling. So Dean marks it down as another win.

“Yeah?” Sam calls out, already reaching to unlock the door. Jo is on the other side when it swings open and she looks stunning. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen her in a dress and this one is deep red and hugging her in all the right places and yeah. Wow. If Dean wasn’t with Sam and almost one hundred percent sure at this point that he’s strictly dickly… But he is and he is. Besides, Jo looks really freaked out, so he steps away from Sam and gestures for Sam to close the door once she’s inside.

The small bathroom upstairs really isn’t big enough for two grown men of their stature, much less them and her. But they make it work and somehow she manages to pace. Yeah. Something’s definitely wrong.

“Am I gay?” She finally asks, looking to Sam and Dean like they might have the answer. Dean chokes on his next breath. Sam laughs. And Jo looks even more stricken.

“Charlie? Did she finally ask you out?”

Jo winces and shakes her head, but then, “What? You mean you _knew_ about this, Sam? You knew and you didn’t tell me? She kissed me, okay? Like, on the lips. And it was… not bad. It was, maybe, good? I don’t know. Oh my god. I’m gay. Well, that explains it.” She throws her hands up and resumes pacing but Dean can’t help but ask.

“Explains what?”

“You.”

“What about me?” Dean asks, legitimately confused at this point.

“How you’re so… _you_ and I never thought… never really wanted… ugh.” She stops there and then leans back on the sink, staring at some point to the left of Sam’s head. “Everyone always said I was stupid for not trying to get together with you after school. Even mom pushed sometimes. Before Sam, of course. But it’s because I’m gay.”

Dean snorts and shakes his head, “Or because you know me too well to find me even the slightest bit attractive. I mean, you once stood guard while I took a dump in the woods. Look, if you like Charlie, fine. If not, that’s okay too. Charlie’s awesome and she’ll be fine either way. But you don’t have to settle on a label right now. Okay? Let’s just get through this wedding and then you can decide what to do about that kiss.”

Jo slumps for a second, like she’s relieved she doesn’t have to think on it too much just and yet, and then she pulls herself up and goes into Maid of Honor mode. She adjusts their clothes and hair and marches them right out of the bathroom and downstairs to their backyard. Which Dean graciously offered use of after Sam kicked his shin under the table at dinner the night Ellen was trying to decide where to hold their ceremony.

There aren’t many people present. Nan, of course, who handled pretty much all the catering. And then Ash, Bobby, and Michael. Ruby is present as well. And Charlie flew in. But Dean thinks that probably has more to do with Jo than anything else.

A few months after Sam moved in, Charlie came to visit, and much to Sam’s amusement, took right up with Jo. Dean sort of knew what was going on there, but Sam is privy to more of Charlie’s secrets than he is. So this was probably not at all surprising to him. She visits regularly now and half the time she sleeps over at Jo’s. So yeah. Dean doesn’t know how Jo’s going to handle it, but he’s fairly certain Charlie is head over heels.

There are a few other stragglers. People who don’t necessarily fit into their inner circle of makeshift family. Sam’s boss from the library is here. Though he’s not going to be Sam’s boss much longer. He’s looking to retire in the next few years and Sam’s a shoo-in for his position as Head Librarian.

Jody Mills is wandering around somewhere too. She’s been a lot easier on John since he dried up. And he’s done well with that too, Dean has to say. There have been a couple of relapses, but he came out of them more determined than ever and Dean thinks that’s the most important thing. He didn’t lose himself again. Dean attributes that mostly to Ellen’s influence on him.

It sucks sometimes, when he thinks about it. All those years and the fact that Dean needed him wasn’t enough. But Sam walked into their life and everything changed. Between Sam and Ellen, John is finally the man Dean always needed him to be. But now Dean doesn’t need him at all.

The thing is, though, John is a shitty parent. And that has nothing to do with his issues with alcohol and everything to do with being forced into single parenthood. Trying to fill a position he never really fit into. In fact, Dean thinks the responsibilities of parenthood are what drove him to drink.

But they’re good now. Dean and Sam have each other and they take John for what he is. Sometimes he’s great and sometimes he’s a dickhead. But Dean’s found that focusing on his own life with Sam and setting no expectations for his or Sam’s relationship with John is the best course of action.

The wedding goes off without a hitch – well other than the hitching of the bride and groom. Ellen looks stunning in her pristine white dress and John looks good in his tuxedo and when his hands shake Dean knows it’s due to emotion and not withdrawals. That’s a great feeling, even if they’re still sometimes rocky.

But the best part? That’s, by far, how good it feels to have Sam at his side. He looks good too. Amazing, even, in his tux and his bowtie. And as Dean listens to the words the pastor is urging John to repeat, he thinks about being in their place.

He’d stand where John is and Sam would be across from him. They’d hold hands and pledge their love to each other. They’d swap rings – a new set special for the occasion – and, hell, maybe even recite their own vows. And, at the end, they’d kiss, chastely, of course. And yeah. Okay. It’s romantic. And kind of sweet. Even if they can’t do it for real – because they’re brothers first of all and second, it’s not even exactly legal yet anyway, incest aside – maybe they should have a little ceremony.

Dean dares a glance to his left and catches sight of just how watery Sam’s eyes are as John and Ellen kiss – _not_ so chastely. Yeah. Maybe they should.

When he tries to draw his gaze back to the altar, he hangs on Jo and smirks at the little smile adorning her blushing face. She’s not looking at Ellen and John at all. Instead she’s turned slightly toward the small crowd. Dean doesn’t even have to look to know just who has her attention.

Maybe they can have a double ceremony. Rainbow themed. The thought almost makes him laugh, but he manages to contain himself as Mister and Missus John Winchester are presented to the applauding audience. 

Seeing his dad like this, smiling and in love, it feels like a happily ever after ending. But then Sam reaches out from behind him and threads their fingers together and it just feels like the very best beginning. They have their whole lives together ahead of them. They have a long way to go to get to their own happily ever after. The road so far has held all manner of bumps and potholes, and he doesn’t doubt there will be more to come. But he’s got Sam riding shotgun and Dean is just looking forward to whatever is over the horizon for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Customary tumblr plug: Hey, if you wanna follow me on [tumblr](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/) that would be alright. Shoot me an [ask](http://sincestiel.tumblr.com/ask) if you have a prompt (Destiel, Wincestiel, Wincest, Cockles, J2) and we'll see what happens. :)


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